


A Series of Avoidable Events

by toolateintheday



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, Clexa Endgame, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/F, GAY GAY GAY, Slow Burn, don't read this if you don't like angst, everything is pretty much gay, feat angry clarke, seriously, side of octaven, there is a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-15 03:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 168,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9216623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toolateintheday/pseuds/toolateintheday
Summary: Clarke Griffin works for renowned advertising company, Trikru Incorporated.  She's coasting through life, unsure of what she truly wants to do and settling for mediocrity. Its not her dream job but it pays the bills. It's comfortable, familiar and what she needs.All that changes when the company bring in Lexa Woods, a new visionary, with the aim to shake things up. Clarke finds her entire existence unsettled by the arrival of her new boss who is as intriguing as she is intimidating.Can they put aside their differences and work together?Aka the Clexa Boss/Employee AU that no one asked for.Rated M for future chapters





	1. A hell of a morning

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm back again with another Clexa AU.  
> This one is quite a lot different than anything I've done before and I'm a little out of my comfort zone but who doesn't love a good challenge?  
> It's basically an enemies to lovers deal with slowburn and hella angst.  
> First chapter or two will be quite a bit of background as we get to know the characters but then its on to the main event.  
> Featuring a side of Octaven cause they're awesome.

‘What the hell have I done this time,’ is Clarke’s first conscious thought as rays of sunlight shine through open venetian blinds and filter through to her eyelids. The second is that it is entirely too bright and entirely too early to be awake. She curses herself for not closing the blinds last night and flings her arm over her eyes in an attempt to block out the light. .

A gentle breeze on the side of her face and the slight rattle of the blinds tells her that she’d also neglected to close the window before she went to sleep. The steady rhythmic tapping of wood against wood makes her acutely aware of the dull ache in her head and the dryness of her mouth.

All the classic signs of a hangover. Ah, yes. She’ll have to thank Raven for that later.

With a groan she reaches out to the bedside table, hands groping blindly for the bottle of water she knows is there somewhere. When she finds it she props herself up on one elbow and takes a long drink, greedily downing half of it before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Thirst quenched, she sinks back into her mattress and begins to piece together the events of the previous night. She’s got to stop doing this. If only she had friends who didn’t encourage her whimsical nature and determination to have a good time...who is she kidding? That’s the best thing about her friends.

But this is the last time Raven talks her into half-price cocktails at The Dropship, she promises herself silently. Even as she thinks it, she knows it’s a lie.

 She may no longer be the ‘party animal Clarke Griffin’ from back in college, but she’s not above taking advantage of Happy Hour. Not when $3 Margaritas are at stake. For that price she can even put up with Murphy’s questionable customer service.

There had been cocktails of course...too many of those. And shots too. Whiskey, if she’s not mistaken. Sloppy drunken dancing. More shots. Snapchatting Octavia. Raven booty-calling Wick. Clambering into an Uber. Raven kissing her sloppily on the cheek and saying she’ll see her at work tomorrow. Kicking off her heels and collapsing into bed fully-clothed.

Clarke closes her eyes and groans again, burying her face into the pillow. Then she pauses.

What did Raven mean ‘see you at work tomorrow?’ Today is Sunday, isn’t it?

Honestly it’s hard to tell because all her days seem to blur into one. If she’s not working, she’s out with her friends. If she’s not out with her friends, she’s painting or surfing. It’s a continuous routine, but it suits her fine. It keeps her busy, keeps her occupied. That’s what she needs.

Besides if it was a working day, the alarm on her phone would have woken her. Hell, she’s got three set up because she’s so paranoid about sleeping in.

Dread building, she reaches for her phone and swipes her thumb across the screen. Nothing. It’s completely dead.

Fuck.

With lightning speed she leaps out of bed and fumbles with her charger, ignoring the way her head throbs painfully with every movement she makes.

In less than a minute her phone comes back to life. Her heart rate about doubles and she instantly panics when she sees the date and time.

07:45 and yes, you bet your ass it’s a Monday

A string of creative curse words later and she’s running a hand through her tangled locks, breathing deeply in an effort to calm herself. Ok, so its 30 minutes later than she’d like. It’s an inconvenience but it’s not the end of the world.

If she ties her hair up and foregoes her make-up routine, she can still shower, make a coffee to-go and get to work for 9am providing traffic isn’t bad.

Clarke tries not to think about the consequences of being late. If she dares to show up to one of Indra’s 9am meetings smelling like last night’s bad decisions, being fired will be the least of her worries.

Her thumb hovers over the screen as it lights up with several incoming messages from both Raven and Octavia. Whatever it is can wait, she thinks, as she sets the phone down and dashes to the bathroom. It’s probably just banter over last night’s antics. Her first priority is to stop smelling like she literally crawled out of a vat of tequila.

 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

Clarke tries to replace the mantra of ‘fuck fuck fuck’ currently racing through her mind with something a little more positive. It’s proving to be very difficult considering the universe seems to be actively working against her today.

She’s in such a rush that she almost runs over with the mailman as she pulls out of the parking garage beneath the apartment. She grimaces and mouths an apology as he furiously brandishes his fist at her. There go her chances of receiving any packages for the next six months.

 _What a fucking morning though_. Along with waking up late she’s had to contend with a cold shower because the hot water is busted again. They’re also out of coffee. She knows Raven is responsible for the latter problem. Her roommate always drinks the last of it and forgets to buy more.

Clarke decides she’ll hold off reprimanding her for that until Raven’s fixed the shower. It’s not a good idea to piss off the person who will fix your plumbing for free, even if they are a gigantic pain in the ass sometimes.

Still, she needs her morning dose of caffeine. The horrible truth is, once you hit your mid-20s, getting through the morning without a decent cup of coffee just isn’t an option.

As she drives to Starbucks she can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s something important about today. Something that she’s forgetting.

 It’s July 25th. The date shouldn’t mean anything special to her. It’s no one’s birthday that she knows of and she doesn’t have any due project deadlines at work...yet. The Polaris Corp bid doesn’t begin until Friday but she can already hazard a guess how much fun that will be (approximately zero).

She mulls it over as orders her coffee and waits in line at the drive thru. By the time she merges back into traffic, she’s come up with nothing and so dismisses the thought as residual panic from this morning’s craziness.

Clarke takes a sip of her iced latte and hums contentedly. It might be an odd drink choice considering it isn’t 9am yet but outside its stiflingly hot, waves of heat rising from the tarmac in a blurred haze.

 Keeping one hand on the steering wheel and the other still grasping her cup, she extends her pinkie finger to switch the radio on, frowning as some Meghan Trainor song emanates from the speakers.

“Oh no you fucking don’t,” Clarke murmurs, twisting the dial.

That’s when it happens.

It will occur to her much later that if she’d been concentrating at this exact moment, she would have avoided the unfortunate turn of events that would unfold within the next two minutes. Events, which coincidentally, would carry staggering repercussions for her throughout the day and stretch long into the weeks ahead.

  _If only she’d known._

She doesn’t see black BMW 7 series merging into her lane until the last second. Registering movement out of the corner of her eye, she looks back at the road to see the car barely a meter in front of her. She yelps a strangled ‘fuck’ and pumps her foot on the breaks, eyes widening in shock momentarily before slamming closed as she braces for the jolt of impact.

It doesn’t come.

There’s no sickening crunch of metal on metal or the sound of breaking glass. Instead she gasps audibly when she’s suddenly hit with a freezing cold wave that steals the breath from her lungs, the unpleasant sensation stretching from her chest all the way down to her thighs.

 Of course when she opens her eyes she sees that she’s absolutely covered in the coffee she had so craved. It’s everywhere. On the dashboard, the centre console, the roof... in her purse. Not to mention her shirt and pants both completely soaked through.

Clarke doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, suspended in shock as she still clutches the now empty cup, her knuckles white. At least it wasn’t hot coffee, she thinks, letting out a shaky breath. She may not have third degree burns but she will now have to go into a departmental meeting looking like a complete idiot.

It’s when the cars in line behind her start honking their horns that her short-lived relief turns to rage.  With a glare she looks back up to see the owner of the black BMW has pulled to a stop at a red light. Clarke clenches her jaw as she restarts her car with every intention of giving this jerk a piece of her mind.

Sure, she should have been more attentive with her driving but she doesn’t remember seeing this entitled asshole bothering to signal. Really, she could have done without adding survive ‘mini-heart attack’ to this morning’s agenda.

She pulls up level with the BMW, rolling her eyes at the personalised licence plate. She scoffs because of course someone with a car this expensive would be the kind of douche to do such a thing.

Clarke knows the exact type; she’s seen it a million times before. She’d bet $10 that the driver is some entitled rich kid with a trust fund, driving around LA like they own the damn place. Little do they now they’re about to get a very rude awakening courtesy of one Clarke Griffin.

“Hey!” Clarke calls, winding her window down. “Hey dude, I’m talking to you!”

There’s no movement from the other car.

 Along with the personalised license plate, the owner also has tinted windows, making it impossible for her to see inside. The lack of response only infuriates her further.

 “Just because you’ve got a fancy car doesn’t mean you can ignore the highway code y’know!”

Again there’s no reaction other than the slight rev of the engine as the driver waits for the lights to change.

Clarke seethes. There’s no way this guy can’t hear her at the volume she’s shouting. He’s just being ignorant...or rude...both are as bad as each other in her book.

There are a number of factors fuelling her anger right now. She’s angry at the possibility of being late. She’s angry with this guy for not bothering to signal. Most of all she’s angry that she’s sat here in wet clothes, making her uncomfortably sticky as the damp material clings to her skin in the LA heat.

True, she could have avoided this by keeping her eyes on the road but they’re both at fault...and it’s much easier to be angry at this stranger than it is at herself.

 At least that’s how she rationalises her actions when she picks up the empty Starbucks cup seconds later and hurls it at the BMW, smirking as it bounces off the windshield with a satisfying thunk.

Clarke’s smirk begins to slip from her face when the reality of what she’s done sinks in. She’s essentially attacked a car. A _very_ expensive car. She hopes that doesn’t amount to criminal damage...it was only a plastic cup after all.

Slowly the window of the BMW rolls down. Clarke very nearly swallows her damn tongue because _holy fuck_ this was not what she was anticipating. There goes her $10.

Instead of the privileged douchebag she had been expecting, she finds herself face to face with a woman who can’t be more than a few years older than her.

Clarke shrinks back into her seat a little under the brunette’s intense glare.  She’s not sure exactly _how_ this woman manages to emit such an intimidating air when her oversized sunglasses hide half her features, but she _does_.

It could be the impeccably tailored cut of her suit. It could be the manner in which she holds herself, chin tipped up and jaw set as she regards Clarke. It could be the way she drums her fingers on the steering wheel nonchalantly. Whatever it is, she’s giving off a very clear ‘do not fuck with me’ vibe.

“Can I help you with something?” the brunette asks, sounding altogether disinterested.

“W-what?” Clarke manages to stammer.

She’s entirely thrown off by the seeming politeness of this interaction. No one in LA is polite. Ever. Especially not after they’ve had trash thrown at their car.

 “I said, can I help you with something?” the brunette repeats, her tone a little sharper. “I assume you wanted my attention. Congratulations,” she says dryly. “You have it.”

When Clarke doesn’t answer immediately the woman sighs and tilts her sunglasses down, peering at her over the top of the frames. Clarke really wishes she hadn’t because she finds herself helplessly transfixed by the most captivating shade of forest green.

She’s speechless, lost in a temporary daze as the woman stares up at her waiting for an answer. As the seconds tick by she begins to forget why she was mad in the first place.

 “Or are you simply in the habit of being rude to everyone you come across?” the brunette continues, arching an eyebrow in silent challenge. “Because whatever it is, I don’t have all day.”

It’s when the brunette’s mouth lifts to the side in an unmistakable smirk that Clarke snaps back to reality with renewed anger. This woman might be inconveniently attractive but Clarke isn’t about to be sassed by some stranger with a superiority complex. Not with the morning she’s had.

“Actually, I just wanted to let you know you’re a jerk,” Clarke retorts, eyes narrowing. “That’s all.”

“Excuse me?” the brunette asks incredulously. “ _You_ throw trash at my car and _I’m_ the jerk? Care to explain?”

“Yeah, you cut me off back there!” Clarke says exasperatedly. “Look at my clothes, they’re ruined,” she adds, gesturing down at her shirt.

“I didn’t cut you off,” the woman protests coolly. “Besides you shouldn’t be drinking coffee when you’re driving. You should have both hands on the wheel.”

“You didn’t signal, dude!” Clarke cries, throwing her hands up. “I almost crashed because of you! You’d think when you own a car that expensive, you would at least know how to drive it. I guess money can’t buy you brains,” she adds cuttingly.

The brunette rolls her eyes. “And manners cost nothing but you don’t seem to have any of those. Besides, I signalled in plenty of time, it’s not my fault you didn’t see it. You really should have been paying more attention. You can’t go through life blaming other people for your mistakes, _dude_ ,” she insists, exaggerating the final word complete with air quotes.

Clarke’s eyes narrow. Is this woman giving her life advice and _mocking_ her in the same breath? The brief quirk of the brunette’s lips tells her that, yes, she definitely is.

Clarke tells herself it’s the woman’s smug grin that fills her with a sudden rage, not that her comments are a bit too close for comfort. Not that they hold any truth. Nope.

But now she’s flustered, unable to articulate a comprehensive argument that will put this woman in her place so instead she says...

“Whatever dicksplash.”

How anticlimactic.

Clarke cringes internally. There’s pathetic insults and then there’s _that_. She’s pretty sure no one has used that word since the 1980s. With good reason. The brunette seems to be of the same train of thought as she smirks even wider, shaking her head. Clarke feels her cheeks burning with an unmistakable blush.

“Dicksplash?” the brunette echoes patronisingly, resting an elbow on the window frame. “Now that _is_ a retro one. You want me to give you a moment while you trying to think of something a little more contemporary? Go on, I’ll wait.”

Clarke likes to think of herself as a pretty laid-back person. It’s kind of her thing, she goes with the flow. But there’s something about this woman that really puts her on edge. Something about this stranger that manages to unsettle her relaxed and easy-going nature. It’s like she’s immediately gotten under her skin. She can’t put her finger on it and it makes her angrier than it should. She sees red.

“Oh, I see. You’d like something more contemporary, would you?” Clarke scathes, voice dripping with sarcasm. “How about go fuck yourself? Hmm? How’s _that_ for contemporary?”

She allows herself a second to gage the woman’s reaction, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction when the brunette’s eyes widen and her eyebrows rise abruptly. She looks completely scandalised.

 Clarke doesn’t give her time to retort, rolling her window up and turning to face the road once more. As soon as the lights turn green, she puts her foot on the gas and peels away smoothly into the distance, flipping the woman off as she goes.

Clarke smiles to herself. She may be covered in coffee. She may have no make-up on. She may be running late for work but at least she’s one-upped a stranger. That one is going firmly in the win column. Sometimes it’s the petty things in life.

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

Twenty minutes later she’s running into the lobby of Trikru Incorporated. In the two years she’s worked here she’s been late a grand total of once. That’s mostly due to the fact that Indra is the terrifying Director of Operations and a stickler for punctuality. Clarke tries not to piss her off when she can help it because she happens to sort of like her job.

Working for a firm that specialises in advertising may not have been her dream but it pays the bills and she gets to exercise her artistic ability somewhat. It also helps that two of her best friends work here too.

She herself works in Branding; logos, concept art, that sort of thing. Octavia works in visual advertising and Raven...Raven is supposed to ensure that their computers don’t spontaneously blow up. Tech Support is the proper name. Though Clarke suspects the Latina would like to see nothing more than a good controlled explosion or two.

Glancing at her phone, she repeatedly jabs the elevator button for the 6th floor. Its 08:54 meaning that by some small miracle she has six whole minutes to make herself presentable. Glancing down at her coffee soaked attire she thinks that might be asking too much.

As soon as the elevator stops at her floor she’s flying out of it, making a beeline for her desk as fast as her legs will carry her. She can see Octavia at the desk beside hers which means Indra hasn’t called them into the meeting yet.

She flings herself into her office chair with a heavy thud. Breathe. She just needs a few seconds of quiet to breathe and everything will be fine.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Octavia questions, scrutinising her appearance. “You look like hell.”

“Yeah, good morning to you too,” Clarke says dryly, reaching for Octavia’s cup of coffee. “The short answer is I went out last night and slept in.”

She takes a large gulp of the coffee and hums gratefully, not caring that it burns her throat slightly on the way down.

Octavia grins mischievously. “Yeah, I got your snapchats. Still doesn’t explain why you’re covered in,” she leans forward and sniffs, “vanilla latte?”

“Iced,” Clarke confirms grimly. “It’s a long story involving a near collision and some uppity rich bitch. I’ll fill you in later.”

Octavia nods. “Sounds intriguing,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “So are you ready for the meeting?”

Clarke frowns at her over the top of the cup. “Why wouldn’t I be? We have the same boring departmental meeting every Monday morning. All Indra’s gonna do is rant about the Polaris Bid again.”

Polaris is a global chain of luxury hotels. They were going out to tender – looking for a company to totally rebrand their image with something fresh before they opened their newest hotel in Dubai in the New Year. That meant new logos, a new website, new advertisements...new everything. Trikru would have to put a bid together and present it to the board within two months. It was going to be a _lot_ of hard work.

 It just so happened that for this bid they would be competing with their biggest rival, Azgeda Industries, for the privilege. The tender process would start on Friday and Indra frankly wouldn’t shut up about it.

Octavia shook her head. “No, Clarke. Today’s meeting is when she’s gonna announce Titus’s replacement. You know, _our new boss_? I sent you a text this morning to remind you, didn’t you get it?”

Clarke frowned. No, she hadn’t had time to read the message but at least that explained why she’d been so fixated the date earlier. Indra had been on about replacing Titus for months ever since he was discovered slipping information to Azgeda. It only made sense that they’d hire a new head of Branding before the bid happened.

To tell the truth, the branding team had quite enjoyed managing themselves for the past couple of weeks. In her opinion they would be just fine without another chump in a suit to dictate their work to them.  Did she dislike her job? No, it was fine. But did she take every opportunity to slack off when she wasn’t properly supervised? Absolutely. Who wouldn’t?

“Do we know anything about the replacement?” Clarke asked, draining the last of the coffee.

Octavia shrugged. “Not much. Raven saw her earlier. Apparently she’s from the New York office. Rae said she was hot.”

Clarke snorted. “Raven doesn’t know dick. She thinks everyone’s hot. Last night she- ouch!”

Clarke scowls and rubs the back of her head. She spins around in her chair to see the aforementioned girl stood right behind her brandishing a rolled up magazine.

“Griffin, I hope you’re not telling lies about me,” she smirks before leaning against the desk. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

Raven shoots Octavia a sly wink and Clarke watches on as the shorter brunette’s cheeks turn an impressive shade of pink.

“Whatever. I don’t need to tell lies to sully your reputation,” Clarke dismisses with a wave of her hand. “O says you’ve seen the new head of Branding. Spill it.”

Raven’s eyes immediately light up. “Yeah I saw her sign in. She was talking to the hot angry one from Legal. Anya . You know the one with the cheekbones?”

Clarke nods.

“Anyway they looked pretty friendly,” Raven continues. “Like they looked like they knew each other.”

This information makes her pessimistic. Anya is renowned for being a total hard ass who runs a very tight ship down in legal. If this new woman is anything like her then Clarke doubts she’s in for a whole bunch of fun. She also doesn’t miss the way Octavia scowls and her eyes darken at the mention of the Anya’s name. Though she suspects that’s for a different reason entirely.

“And yes,” Raven says, leaning forward to cup Clarke’s cheeks. “New girl is incredibly attractive in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” Clarke protests, batting her hands away.

“Sure. Sure Griffin,” Raven smirks. “Anyway I’d better head up to 7,” she says, pushing herself off the desk. “Sinclair says the copier up there is malfunctioning which means some idiot has done something they shouldn’t have again. Catch you nerds later.”

As soon as Raven’s gone Clarke spots Indra stalking across the far length of the office towards the glass-fronted meeting room. The older woman makes eye contact with both her and Octavia and then signals for them to come through.

Clarke swallows hard and gets to her feet, trying in vain to smooth out the wrinkles in her coffee stained shirt. Indra’s definitely going to tear her a new one for this.

“Here, take this,” Octavia says, shrugging off her blazer. “You’re taller than me so the arms might be a little short but it should cover the worst of the stain.”

Clarke beams as she accepts the garment and hurriedly tugs it on.

“Thanks so much, O. You’re the best,” Clarke cries, leaning forward to kiss her friend on the cheek.

“Don’t mention it,” Octavia shrugs. “You can repay me by telling me all about your hellish morning over lunch. I love your stories, Griffin. The most weird shit always seems to happen to you.”

Clarke would be inclined to agree.

“Deal,” Clarke nods. “Now let’s get into the meeting before that vein in Indra’s forehead finally blows and kills us all.”

 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

Bored. Clarke was so very bored. There was no other word for it.

The meeting had only been underway for around 15 minutes but already she could feel her eyelids starting to droop. Just as she’s suspected, Indra was ranting on and on about the Polaris bid and how important it would be for the company and how failure was ‘absolutely not an option.’

Clarke herself had long since zoned out, choosing instead to doodle on her notepad. She was halfway through drawing the Gryffindor Lion when she felt a sharp jab in the ribs from Octavia and turned to scowl at her friend. Octavia scowled back and raised her eyebrows pointedly to the front of the room.

Clarke whipped her head around to see Indra regarding her with a look of distain. Clarke gulped nervously and gave the Operations Director the best innocent smile she could. Indra’s expression didn’t change a bit.

“As I was saying, now that I have _everyone’s_ attention,” Indra paused to spare Clarke another glare. “You will all be aware that we have hired a new Head of Branding to lead us through the Polaris bid process. This individual comes to us with a wealth of experience having worked in our New York office for the past five years. She singlehandedly spearheaded the...”

Bla bla bla. Clarke was tuning out again. Truth be told her head was still pounding with the after effects of drinking and she just didn’t have it in her to care. In the background Indra was still droning on and couldn’t she please just be done with this meeting already?

“...so I hope you will all join me in giving a warm welcome to Miss Lexa Woods, your new Head of Branding.”

Now this part Clarke _was_ intrigued about. Raven may have had terrible taste in men (see Kyle Wick) but her taste in women was usually spot on so Clarke was curious to see just what this Lexa Woods looked like.

 Casting a sideways glance to Octavia, she slowly looks up from her drawing just as Indra opens the door for their new addition to enter.

When the woman crosses the threshold, Clarke’s breath catches in her throat and she almost chokes on her own saliva. She genuinely feels her heart skip a beat out of sheer panic. _There’s no fucking way._ This has to be some sort of mistake.

She drops her pencil in surprise and it clatters nosily to the desk in the otherwise silent room. Lexa turns her head sharply and when forest green eyes meet her own deep blue ones she knows there’s no mistake.

This must be karma coming back for her tenfold because the woman she’d flipped off not half an hour ago, nay, the woman she’d told to ‘go fuck herself’ is Lexa Woods. Lexa Woods is the BMW driver. Lexa Woods is her new boss. They are one and the same.

Clarke knows then. Knows that when Lexa’s lips quirk up in an almost imperceptible smirk that the outcome in inevitable. She’s fucked.


	2. A second chance at a first impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your feedback on the first chapter!  
> This is another chapter from Clarke's pov and features some more Clexa interaction...though it is angsty.

“So Lexa will be directly overseeing our branding strategy as well as contributing to some of the interactive visual campaign...”

Clarke is grateful that they chose seats at the back of the room because she’s pretty certain she’s having an out of body experience. She’d always wondered what it would feel like.

It’s altogether unpleasant.

She is vaguely aware that Indra is still talking but the woman’s voice sounds distorted and far away as though she’s at the opposite end of a long corridor. She may as well be on the moon for all its worth. Clarke hasn’t been able to concentrate on a single word since Lexa Woods entered the room with that barely there smirk.

She keeps her eyes trained on a single point on the desk, not daring to look up lest she meets Lexa’s gaze again. There’s no telling what the brunette will do if provoked. She could humiliate Clarke in front of her colleagues by recounting their earlier meeting in vivid detail. She could say nothing at all and leave the tension to fester.

Clarke almost wishes Lexa would do the former and put her out of her misery.

She can’t remember the last time she was this anxious. And that’s a fucking achievement seeing as she’s been in some truly awkward situations.

Like the time in middle school where she accidentally called the teacher ‘Mom.’ Or when she ignored the sock on the door rule in college and walked in on her roommate enthusiastically riding some guy. Not, of course, forgetting when she did a keg-stand to impress that one cute girl and then promptly threw up over her shoes.

Yeah, but this, this right now, beats all of those hands down.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re breathing really heavily,” Octavia hisses into her ear. A beat passes. “And you’re wearing the exact look you had when Jasper accidentally dropped those Game of Thrones spoilers.”

Octavia wears an indignant expression when Clarke shushes her a moment later. She can’t find it within herself to care that she’s being rude because the internal panic she’s currently experiencing kind of overrules any other rational thought.  

With a deep breath she slowly lifts her head to look at the front of the conference room. Mercifully Lexa isn’t looking back at her when she does. The brunette now stands next to Indra, charcoal-rimmed eyes trained on the older woman as she dutifully listens to whatever spiel of corporate jargon.

Lexa’s a lot shorter than Clarke had previously thought. Still a good inch or so on her own height but probably no more than 5,6”. Then again she didn’t really get a good look when she’d seen Lexa earlier that morning. Its nigh on impossible to gauge someone’s height when they’re sat in a car. Especially when your brain is doing other things...like telling your mouth to shout obscenities at them.

Despite herself, Clarke can’t help but note how attractive the brunette is. Stunning really with her wavy chestnut hair and tanned skin. It’s not an opinion, it’s just a fact. Lexa is good looking. Anyone with working eyes would draw the same conclusion. Obviously.

Still, she scoots forward in her chair a little to get a better look.

The way Lexa holds herself is almost regal. With her head held high and hands clasped firmly behind her back she exudes an air of confidence. She’s certainly commanding the attention of everyone in the room, Clarke notes, as she takes a quick glance at her colleagues.

Instead of paying attention to the ongoing presentation she finds herself studying the contours of Lexa’s face. Her gaze is immediately drawn to sculpted cheekbones, travelling lower past full lips that are expertly painted with a shade of something barely there. Her look is classic, polished, refined...a _nd dang_ , she’s got a jawline for _days_.

Of course she does. Because if Clarke Griffin has one weakness it’s a well defined jawline...and Lexa’s damn near looks like it was chiselled from marble.

How typical that she would be attracted to someone who holds the fate of her career in her hands. Someone she’s already managed to insult before the working day had even begun. ‘Nice job, Griffin’, she congratulates herself as she slips straight back into panic mode.

She’s vaguely aware of Octavia whispering something in her ear again but she’s too busy caught in a daydream about her own career suicide to make sense of the words.

That’s why the sharp pinch Octavia delivers to her arm a moment later is entirely unexpected. She yelps and startles, elbow colliding painfully with the side of the desk.

She twists around in her seat to grant her friend a dark scowl. There are a few choice words she’d like to hurl at Octavia right now. Most of them consisting of four or five letters.

The sound of a throat clearing gives her pause and she turns slowly to face the front of the room yet again.

She really needs to stop drawing attention to herself because Indra’s glaring at her with the intensity of a thousand burning suns. Lexa’s expression remains blank though her head is inclined slightly to one side. Behind her Octavia is not helping the situation by doing her best to stifle a giggle and failing badly.

 “Thank you for volunteering, Clarke,” Indra nods.

Clarke blinks. “What?” 

It’s the wrong response as it clearly indicates she hasn’t been paying attention. Though maybe if Indra keeps staring like that, actual laser beams will shoot forth from her eyes and put an end to her embarrassment once and for all. It would frankly be a welcome relief.

“Well seeing as you’re obviously so _keen_ to get started on preparations for the Polaris bid,” Indra says with thinly veiled irritation, “You can be the member of the creative team to show Lexa the work we’ve been doing in the lead up to this project. Give her an idea of the calibre of people we have working here and provide a vital insight into the way we operate. I trust you’re more than capable?” she tacks on, raising an eyebrow.

 Clarke swallows the lump that’s formed in her throat. She knows what that tone means. It’s not really a question and ‘no’ wouldn’t be an advisable answer even if it was.

“Sure,” Clarke confirms, trying to keep her voice from wavering. “I’d be happy to.”

“Excellent. You can arrange an appointment when the meeting is dismissed,” Indra says with no enthusiasm whatsoever.

Clarke slumps down in her chair as Indra launches back into her spiel about Friday’s agenda and opens up a new PowerPoint slide.

She tries her best to concentrate on the remainder of the meeting but it’s no use. All she can think about is what fresh hell will come next.

 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

When Indra calls an end to the meeting an agonising half hour later, Clarke makes no effort to move from her seat. She supposes that’s because no one is ever in a hurry to get to their own funeral.

When she glances up from beneath her eyebrows she sees Lexa standing by the door, shaking the hand of each person as they steadily file out of the room. Lexa’s smiling, Clarke notes, but it’s not the kind that meets her eyes. They remain neutral, betraying the facade that she’s actually-

Ok, stop. This is ridiculous, Clarke mentally chastises herself. She’s reading too much into everything. Overanalysing and looking for faults.

What she _needs_ to do is work on her exit strategy and think of an embarrassment-free way out of this situation. What she _needs_ to do is stop staring at Lexa Woods. Luckily Octavia is on hand to help out with the latter.

“Earth to Clarke Griffin,” Octavia says, grinning and waving a hand in front of her face. “Come in Clarke Griffin, your people need you.”

“What?” Clarke snaps irritably, turning to glare at her. “What is it _now_?”

She immediately regrets it when Octavia draws away from her and a flash of alarm crosses her sharp features.

“Whoa, relax. I was just trying to get your attention because we need to leave,” Octavia says defensively. “Jeez, there’s no need to take my head off.”

Clarke shakes her head with a sigh. “Sorry, O. I was in a world of my own. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that it’s just...information overload from the meeting you know? There’s a lot to take on board.”

Its bullshit and they both know it. Precisely zero useful information has been retained from that meeting. She _is_ sorry for snapping at Octavia though. It isn’t her fault she’s in this mess.

 “Are you sure that’s all it is?” Octavia presses, eyebrows knitting together with concern.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Clarke nods, forcing herself to smile. “And I guess I’m just a little cranky. Not enough sleep,” she offers weakly.

Octavia doesn’t look convinced but she lets it go. “That’s what you get for going out drinking with Raven on a Sunday,” she teases, nudging her shoulder against Clarke’s as she gets to her feet. “The girl is an absolute machine. You should know better by now.”

“I should but yet here we are,” Clarke shrugs.

Octavia rolls her eyes. “You coming? I’m gonna go and see Monty down in IT before I make a start on the long-ass list of things I have to do today.”

“You go ahead. I have to stay behind and arrange an appointment with our new manager, remember?”

“Ah yes, I thought you’d volunteer to show the new girl the ropes,” Octavia smiles, tongue between her teeth. “She’s hot.”

“Is she?” Clarke says dryly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

She’s met with a look that says ‘like hell you haven’t.’

“Well I guess I’ll see you later then. Try to make a good first impression,” Octavia winks as she turns to leave.

It’s far too late for that, Clarke thinks as she watches her friend go. When Octavia departs she finally gets up and walks over to the front of the room, her feet feeling as though they’re made of lead the entire time.

She hovers awkwardly, eyes trained firmly on the floor as Indra types away furiously on her laptop. She isn’t quite sure what to do. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Lexa stood on Indra’s other side, equally silent. It’s tense as hell.

“So ladies,” Indra says, getting to her feet. “I believe some introductions are in order. Lexa, this is Clarke Griffin, one of our Branding Executives. She’ll be working directly underneath you on the Polaris bid.”

Clarke wills herself not to blush at Indra’s wording as she looks up to meet Lexa’s gaze. Lexa is looking straight back at her wearing that same unreadable expression she’d had throughout the meeting. It makes her uncomfortable but she doesn’t look away, determined not to show any of the nerves she’s feeling.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Clarke,” Lexa says politely, extending her hand.

Clarke hesitates before she shakes it and wishes her own palms weren’t quite so sweaty. She also wishes she didn’t notice how soft Lexa’s skin was as the brunette clasped her hand firmly.

“Likewise,” Clarke replies.

That’s it, Griffin. Just keep the talking to a minimum and you’ll be fine. Calm and collected, that’s the key.

“Clarke is one of our most talented employees within the creative team and has an extensive background within art and design,” Indra explains as she turns to face Lexa. “She’s made some innovative contributions to past projects and has a real knack for meeting and exceeding client expectations. We’re lucky to have such a dextrous artist within our midst. Not to mention the way she gels with the rest of the team - her interpersonal skills are second to none.”

Clarke’s eyebrows shoot practically into her hairline. She can’t have heard that correctly because it sounds suspiciously like a compliment. Actually, several compliments. Indra _never_ gives compliments..

“Is that so?” Lexa questions, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “In that case I look forward to working with you, Clarke. I find that respect for your colleagues is the key to running a successful team.”

Clarke doesn’t miss the hint of amusement in Lexa's tone. At least she thinks its amusement. It could easily be a veiled threat.

“So should we schedule our appointment for 2 o’clock?” Lexa continues. “I can’t wait to see this work ethic that Indra speaks so highly of.”

Threat. It’s definitely a threat.

“Two is fine,” Clarke confirms.

“Excellent,” Indra chimes in. “I’m sure the two of you are going to get along very well.”

“Oh, I’m sure we will,” Lexa smiles tightly. “If you’ll both excuse me I have a conference call scheduled with the New York office.”

“Of course,” Indra nods. “Don’t let us keep you.”

Clarke breathes a sigh of relief as Lexa turns and sweeps gracefully from the room. It turns out to be a very short respite as she finds herself face to face with Indra’s thunderous glare the second the door clicks shut. 

“Griffin, I’m going to say this as plainly as I know how,” Indra grates out. “Do _not_ screw this up. Lexa Woods is highly revered within the company and it is imperative that we impress her on the Polaris project. She will be liaising with corporate and providing weekly progress reports on our efforts here. If I get word of any insubordination or unprofessionalism there _will_ be consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

Ah, there’s the Indra she knows and fears. So the compliments _had_ just been for show after all. The older woman had been buttering Lexa up the entire time with all that nonsense about interpersonal skills.

Though that does give her pause...because who exactly _is_ Lexa Woods that Indra feels the need to pander to her. 

“Crystal clear,” Clarke confirms. “You can count on me.”

Indra seems satisfied with that response as she doesn’t say anything else, just grunts in acknowledgement and turns back to her laptop.

Clarke takes that as her cue to leave, hurrying from the room as quickly as she can without actually running. This day has been a complete bust from the start and she’s barely been awake for two hours.

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

Clarke frowns as she drags a French fry absent-mindedly through the pool of ketchup in the middle of her plate.

She’s not even hungry. It’s not like her at all. Come lunch time she’s usually first in-line at the cafeteria. Today Raven had practically dragged her into the queue. The anxiety she feels over this afternoon’s impending meeting with Lexa has left her feeling numb.

Impending doom, more like, she thinks bitterly.

Raven and Octavia have been remarkably patient so far, not probing her for details. They both sit opposite her at the small lunch table, laughing and trading juvenile insults that come as close to terms of endearment as they’re going to get.

“Don’t you think the new intern looks like Ruby Rose?”

“What?! Where?”

Octavia points over at the lunch line and sneaks one of Raven’s fries when the girl’s head is turned.

“Hey! You could have got your own fries,” Raven cries when she catches her.

“Well I’m not supposed to be eating anything unhealthy but yours looked so good I couldn’t resist,” Octavia defends, stealing another one.

“Don’t you know all the best things in life are bad for you?” Raven counters, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Octavia blushes and swats Raven playfully on the arm as they continue their office gossip.

Clarke smiles at them despite her bad mood. They’re best friends, the three of them. Have been since college.

Clarke met Raven on the first day of high school. They’d been partnered together in chemistry and Raven, ever curious, had ended up accidentally singeing Clarke’s eyebrows off in a lab experiment gone wrong. By the time her eyebrows had grown back they were pretty much inseparable, bonding over their love of sci-fi TV shows, 80s rock music and a mutual appreciation of sarcasm.

In fact, so similar were their tastes that they both found themselves unwittingly dating the same guy at in college. Needless to say they’d both dumped his ass in spectacular fashion when they found out. Clarke likes to think that wherever he is, Finn Collins is still looking over his shoulder to this day.

Whilst they hadn’t specifically planned to go to UCLA together it was a more than welcome bonus that fate just so happened to steer them in that direction. That’s where they met Octavia who made up the final part of their trio.

Well, technically, Clarke had met Octavia many years before back at Wildwood Summer Camp when she was 9. The pair of them had gotten along famously and spent the whole summer tormenting Octavia’s older brother, Bellamy. When Octavia didn’t return to Wildwood the year after, Clarke had been pretty upset about it but figured she’d moved out of state.

So imagine her surprise when she walked into her first Media Arts class and come face to face with the girl who had once called herself the self-proclaimed “Prank Queen” of Wildwood.

Another smooth move by fate. Clarke is a big believer in it at this point.

Octavia hadn’t changed much over the years. She’s still just as free-spirited, headstrong and mischievous. Then there’s her wicked sense of humour which meant that she got along with Raven almost too well. Sometimes when the two of them get a crazy idea in their heads, Clarke regrets ever introducing them. Her blood pressure would certainly be lower if she hadn’t.

But she wouldn’t change them for the world. They’re her rock, the two of them.

Clarke looks back down at her plate when Raven catches her eye. They’ve been avoiding her miserable mood like the proverbial elephant in the room. But Clarke knows Raven and she can tell that the Latina is just itching to say something.

“Soooo...are you gonna sulk all the way through lunch, Griffin? Or are you gonna tell us what’s got your panties in a bunch- ouch! What the fuck, O?”

“Don’t be rude.”

“Don’t be rude?” Raven echoes incredulously. “You just kicked me under the table,” she pouts.

“Because you were being rude,” Octavia dismisses, smirking a little as she turns to face Clarke. “As much as I hate to admit it, Raven has a point. I haven’t seen you this miserable since Murphy cancelled taco Tuesdays at The Dropship. What gives?”

“It’s nothing,” Clarke mutters, slouching in her chair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ah don’t be like that Clarkey,” Raven coaxes. Clarke scowls at the nickname. “You know what they say, a problem shared is a problem halved or whatever. Come on. Why so glum, chum?”

Clarke sighs. She might as well rip the band aid off and tell them. The sooner Raven and Octavia start ribbing her for this, the sooner it will end. Frankly she’s done worse things in her life that they’re well aware of.

“Fine, I’ll tell you,” Clarke relents.”But you have to promise not to laugh at me,” she tacks on, eyeing Raven in particular.

“I promise no such thing,” Raven scoffs. “Now quit stalling and tell us, Griffin. The suspense is killing me.”

Clarke takes a deep breath and prepares to deliver a story that’ll give her best friends bullying material until Christmas.

 

 

 

 

“So to summarise, I have essentially ruined my career by telling my boss to go fuck herself, “Clarke finishes dejectedly.

You could hear in pin drop in the silence that follows.

Raven and Octavia had gasped and groaned at the appropriate moments but when Clarke looks up at them now they’re both sitting there wearing matching expressions of shock. 

“Please say something,” Clarke says when she can’t bear the silence any longer. “Just tell me it’s not that bad and I can-”

She’s cut off by the sound of Raven’s unadulterated cackling rising above her voice. The brunette is clutching her sides, red-faced as tears roll down her cheeks with the effort of laughing so hard. Clarke glares at her as several people from other tables turn to look for the source of the noise.

“You promised you wouldn’t laugh!” Clarke hisses.

“I think you’ll find I didn’t,” Raven wheezes, wiping the tears from her eyes. “God this is too good. You see this... _this_ is why we keep you around, Griffin. You’re hilarious.”

“I’m glad that me ruining my life is proving to be a source of amusement to you,” Clarke deadpans.

Octavia gives her a sympathetic smile. “Look Clarke, it really isn’t that bad. I mean yeah, you were really rude and totally overreacted but-”

“What do you mean I totally overreacted?” Clarke demands. “Did you miss the part where _she_ cut me off and I almost crashed? I could have been really hurt!”

This isn’t quite the reaction she had been expecting from her best friends. A little sympathy would have been nice.

“Yeah but you did tell her to go fuck herself and that was a tad much,” Raven defends, collecting herself. “I’m your friend and I love you but you can be cranky as hell on a hangover. ‘Hung-over Clarke’ should be approached with caution and trepidation else the reaction is hella ugly. It’s kind of like feeding a gremlin after midnight.”

Clarke crosses her arms and frowns. As much as she hates to admit it, they do have a point. ‘Hung-over Clarke’ operates on a short fuse...it’s even shorter with a lack of caffeine.

“Look you were in a bad mood with yourself and you took it out on someone else,” Octavia offers with a shrug. “We all do it sometimes. We’re only human. It’s just unlucky for you that Lexa was the target of your misplaced anger. You should just apologise, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Raven nods. “Yeah you should totally grovel for forgiv...wait...did you say Lexa? As in Lexa Woods? _The_ Lexa Woods?” she questions, eyebrows furrowed.

Clarke frowns. “Yeah. You’ve heard of her?”

“Well yeah, I mean she’s this incredible business woman – huge deal within the company,” Raven confirms.

Clarke and Octavia simply stare at her blankly.

“Don’t you guys ever read the corporate newsletter?” Raven huffs exasperatedly.

“No,” Octavia and Clarke say in unison.

Clarke’s seen the corporate newsletter, of course. And by ‘seen’, she means she watches it pop up in her inbox once and month and then promptly deletes the email. It’s essentially a snooze fest in the form of words. Anyway, she’s never heard of Lexa before today.

“I know she led the Arkadia group merger two years ago,” Octavia offers. “Indra told us in the meeting when she was introducing her.”

Clarke lets that information sink in. She really hadn’t been listening seeing as she was too busy contemplating her own untimely demise. But she has heard of the Arkadia merger – it made the company millions of dollars when the deal was signed in New York.

She’s only now beginning to realise the scale of the fuck-up she’d made this morning.

Raven shakes her head. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg, O. She’s crazy successful. Like she made it onto Forbes 30 under 30 levels of successful. You’re gonna have to do some serious ass-kissing, Clarke,” she says, popping a French fry into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “That woman could ruin you...and not in the good way.”

Clarke groans at that and holds her head in her hands. Lexa Woods is obviously some sort of prodigy and Clarke has managed to work her way into the woman’s bad books almost immediately.

“Hold on a minute,” Clarke snaps her head up. “If she’s such a big deal in New York, why is she taking a management position here? Surely that’s beneath her?”

“Beats me,” Raven shrugs.”Why don’t you ask her yourself?” she grins a moment later.

Sure enough when Clarke turns around she spots Lexa walking into the cafeteria with Anya and some other woman who she thinks is called Echo. She quickly turns back around and sinks lower in her chair, hoping Lexa hadn’t spotted her.

“Lexa might be some sort of hot shot, Clarke, but she has terrible taste in friends,” Octavia observes. “Anya Forrester and Echo Harris? Ugh.”

“Well don’t look now but she’s coming over,” Raven says, her face lighting up.

Clarke panics. “Who, Lexa?”

“No, Anya,” Raven grins. “Now shut up and let me do the talking.”

Clarke looks up just as Anya draws level with their table with a sour look on her face. Anya’s a little older than them, maybe 32 or so with dark blonde hair, killer cheekbones and a permanent scowl. Clarke doesn’t have to interact with her much seeing as she works in legal but she does have to listen to Raven harp on about how attractive she is on a daily basis.

“Anya,” Raven greets brightly. “To what to we owe the pleasure? If you’re looking for a spare seat to eat lunch there’s one right here next to me. We can make it a lunch date,” she says, patting the empty chair to her left.

Clarke looks on in shocked awe. She will never fail to be surprised by the level of confidence Raven seems to possess.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Octavia scowling openly and feels a pang of sympathy for her. She’s long suspected that Octavia’s feelings towards Raven are a more than platonic. She also gets the impression those feelings are reciprocated. Though neither of them have admitted anything of the like. They’re both too stubborn for that.

Anya’s expression remains blank. “Don’t try to be cute, Reyes. Sinclair told me to tell you there’s an emergency in the server room and to get down there immediately. He also said not to turn your walkie off during lunch.”

“Yes m’am,” Raven smirks, giving her a mock salute. “I’m always happy to lend a helping hand.”

Anya rolls her eyes before turning on her heel and walking away.

“We’ll take a rain check on that lunch date!” Raven calls after her.

Clarke shakes her head and chuckles, forgetting for a moment that she’s a dead woman walking.

“Guess that’s my cue to leave guys,” Raven says, getting to her feet. “Good luck with the meeting Clarke.”

“I’d better go too,” Octavia adds, following suit. “I promised Indra I would make a start on some market research with Harper.”

“Any last words of advice for me?” Clarke asks, feeling nervous all over again.

“Just apologise and be sincere about it,” Octavia offers.

“And be nice,” Raven tacks on.

“I’m always nice.”

“Sure you are, Griffin.”

 

 

 //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

Clarke stands in front of the door, one hand clutching her portfolio, the other poised in mid-air as she stares at the plaque engraved ‘Lexa Woods – Branding Manager.’ She hasn’t knocked yet. She knows that when she does, Lexa’s going to invite her inside, probably for the dressing-down of a lifetime.

Lexa’s office is situated at the far end of the fifth floor, adjacent to the row of desks Clarke and Octavia occupy. All the manager’s offices have pretty much the same layout: solid wooden doors and clear glass walls at the front. They have the option of blinds, of course, which obscures them from view and affords privacy.

Almost all the managers choose to lower their blinds...with the exception of Indra who prefers to keep hers open as a reminder that she is always present and always watching. As if anyone could forget.

Maybe she’s scared for nothing. For all she knows Lexa could be a really nice person. She shouldn’t very well judge someone on their first impressions. Let’s face it, she made a pretty bad one herself with all that sass talk this morning.

Finally she summons the nerve to suck it up and knock, trying to ignore the shake of her hands when she does so.

“Enter.”

Clarke shuts her eyes, takes a deep breath and mentally prepares for the worst as she pushes down on the chrome handle.

She steps over the threshold and into the room and _whoa_...this office is drastically different from when Titus had occupied it.

Immediately she’s hit with the scent of lavender and vanilla wafting through the air. It’s pleasant and welcoming and altogether unexpected. Her eyes flit around the room, landing on a couple of votive candles burning on the window ledge.

 It’s an odd choice to light candles in the middle of the day...especially in the height of summer but it provides a strange sort of calming effect. She wonders if Lexa is trying to lull her into a false sense of security.

Gone are Titus’s cringe-worthy motivational posters from the back wall. In their place are a number of framed diplomas and certificates. Lexa clearly isn’t shy about her achievements, Clarke notes as she squints slightly to read the lettering. From what she can make out, Lexa has a degree from Harvard Business School and another in International Relations from the University of Oxford.

Ok, wow. Maybe all the hype surrounding this woman is justified.

The most drastic change comes in the form of a solid, polished mahogany desk that occupies the middle of the room like a showpiece. With its ornately carved legs and lacquered finish it has a certain air of finesse, just like the woman who sits behind it, eyes focused on her laptop screen.

Clarke hovers awkwardly by the door, both hands now clutching her portfolio, entirely unsure of what to do with herself.

“Take a seat,” Lexa states without looking at her.

Clarke nods and makes for the empty chair opposite her boss.

 “Close the door behind you,” Lexa says flatly, eyes still on her laptop.

Clarke mentally kicks herself as she stops in her tracks and spins on her heel to close the door.  As she closes it she catches sight of Octavia at the far end of the main office giving her an encouraging thumbs up.

They both know its going to take more than that for her to get through this meeting unscathed.

Clarke tries to ignore the slight wobble in her legs as she approaches the desk for the second time. She lowers herself into the chair opposite Lexa and gingerly places her portfolio onto the desk. Her hands shake so much that she almost drops it, catching it awkwardly between her knees and blushing furiously. If she could go ahead and stop acting like a goddamn amateur in front of this woman, that would be great.

When she looks up she sees Lexa regarding her expectantly, her brilliant green eyes boring into Clarke’s own. The brunette has now closed her laptop and sits with her back ramrod straight, her hands clasped as they rest on the desk in front of her.Clarke puts the fluttering feeling in her stomach down to nerves.

Seconds tick by and neither of them say anything. Clarke figures this is probably some sort of test. Lexa is obviously trying to psych her out by daring her to speak first. The tension is almost unbearable as she stares right back, willing herself not to break eye contact lest she come off as weak.

After a few more terse seconds the pressure becomes too much and Clarke decides to give in. She may be stubborn but she’s not an idiot. She needs to do something to alleviate the tension between them.

“You sure those aren’t a fire hazard?” Clarke jokes, grinning nervously as she jerks her thumb at the candles. “You know the PR manager here is a real stickler for health and safety.”

Lexa remains silent but arches an eyebrow in response. Clarke feels the grin slide from her face. Clearly Lexa is not in the mood for joking and she had been a fool for assuming otherwise. So far this woman has given no indication that she’s about anything other than business. Perhaps she should just apologise now and get it over with.

“Can I get you anything before we start?” Lexa asks politely, catching her totally off guard. “A mineral water, perhaps? Tea? _Coffee_?”

Ah. Not polite at all. Clarke definitely doesn’t miss the implication and feels a pang of irritation. To be honest, she probably deserved that so she holds her tongue and shakes her head, biting on the inside of her cheek. Raven’s advice to ‘be nice’ echoes in her head.

“Very well. Let’s begin then,” Lexa states, gesturing at the portfolio.

Clarke hands it over and watches on nervously as Lexa wordlessly flips through the pages of the folder.

It’s full of the team’s work on past projects and includes concept art, logo designs, sketches and graphics that were used in various advertising campaigns. Clarke doesn’t like to brag but she’s pretty proud of her contributions. She may be limited by client specifications but she has at least some creative licence.

Working at Trikru has never been her plan but it’ll do for now. It pays the bills and its convenient. Ideally she’d own her own art gallery and showcase her pieces for the world to see. It’s little more than a farfetched idea that seems unlikely to ever materialise but a girl can dream.

“So what do you think?” Clarke asks nervously.

Lexa closes the folder. “These are satisfactory,” she says flatly.

Wow, rude.

“However, I noticed these designs have all been for relatively small businesses,” Lexa continues, oblivious to Clarke’s shocked expression. “We need to implement some serious changes if we’re going to impress Polaris. They’re in a different league entirely.”

Clarke is gobsmacked because the portfolio is far from satisfactory...its damn good! Perhaps Lexa is being so cold towards her because she hasn’t apologised yet, she rationalises. Maybe she should take Raven and Octavia’s advice: apologising may well be the way to go.

“Look Lexa, I think we got off on the wrong foot this morning,” Clarke begins, swallowing her pride. “You caught me on a bad day. I’m not usually like that so I wanted to apologise for-”

Lexa raises a palm to silence her. “You don’t need to explain. You were wrong. You let your emotions get the better of you and you reacted poorly. Rest assured that your mistake will not affect our professional relationship.”

Clarke very nearly tells her to go fuck herself again. _Her_ mistake?

Fair enough, she was a little wrong but Lexa is partly to blame here and she’ll be damned if she’s going to accept full responsibility. She knows she shouldn’t answer back. Knows she shouldn’t antagonise Lexa. But her ego is bruised so that’s exactly what she does.

“Fine,” Clarke agrees cagily. “I was only trying to clear the air. I admit that I reacted poorly but _you_ still didn’t signal. It wouldn’t kill you to acknowledge that you were wrong too, you know.”

Lexa’s eyes flash with anger and Clarke flinches. It’s the first time the brunette has shown any emotion the whole time they’ve been in the room together.

“As I told you this morning, I can assure you that I _did_ signal,” Lexa retorts in a clipped tone. “I am a highly competent driver. I don’t make mistakes so do not blame me for yours.”

“Sure,” Clarke mutters darkly. “I bet you’ve never done anything wrong in your life.”

Clarke isn't sure why she's determined to be so rude. Lexa seems to be bringing out the worst in her. In fact they both seem to be bringing out the worst in each other. This probably won't end well.

“If this is your apology you’re doing a terrible job at it. Not that it’s relevant. I can’t fire you for throwing a tantrum in the middle of downtown LA.”

This woman is fucking unbelievable, Clarke thinks. Never before has she met someone quite so egotistical and arrogant. She opens her mouth to deliver a scathing reply but the death glare Lexa throws her is so intense she thinks better of it.

There's another tense silence that stretches between them. Clarke doesn't know how long it lasts but it feels like years.

“Do you know why they brought me in?”Lexa asks matter-of-factly changing the subject. “From New York, I mean?”

To fuck with me?

“No,” Clarke shrugs .

Lexa stares for another long moment before she drops her gaze and pushes her chair away from her desk. For a frightening second Clarke thinks the brunette might just straight-up throw her from the office for being insubordinate. She’s relieved when Lexa turns and crosses the room to stand by the window, looking out onto the city below.

Lexa’s got her back to her and Clarke realises she isn’t wearing the blazer from earlier and now stands before her in a crisp white shirt and tailored slacks. It’s a more casual look but it doesn’t make her any less intimidating when she turns around, hands clasped behind her back, expression unreadable.

“Then let me tell you, Clarke,” Lexa begins, heading back to her desk.

The way Lexa rolls her tongue over the K in her name sends a shiver down Clarke’s spine but she doesn’t have time to linger on that particular thought or what it might mean.

“They brought me in because I get results,” Lexa continues, slipping her blazer back on. “I am methodical. I am driven. I am pragmatic. I put the needs of the company before anything else. Perhaps most importantly, I am not ruled by my emotions. I am here for one reason and one reason only: to ensure our success on this project by any means necessary.”

Clarke says nothing though she’s a little confused by the turn in conversation. She’d come in with the intention to apologise and isn’t quite sure how they’ve ended up at this juncture. Her head is spinning though that could just be the last of her hangover.

“So let me clarify,” Lexa says lowly, placing both palms on the desk and leaning forward. “I don’t _need_ you to apologise to me. I don’t _need_ us to be friends. We don’t even need to like each other. We are colleagues, nothing more, nothing less. Personal feelings and opinions don’t come into it.”

Clarke’s confusion is replaced with quickly growing anger as she listens to Lexa make her point. She just about refrains from rolling her eyes, choosing instead to scowl darkly. Lexa’s basically saying she doesn’t care if Clarke doesn’t like her. She doesn’t care about the people she works with. They are pawns to her. Or at least that’s the impression Clarke is getting.

“All I need is for you to follow my direction and respect my leadership. I will not tolerate anything less. Do you understand?”

Clarke nods, not trusting herself to speak lest she says something that will get her fired for sure. She understands alright. She understands Lexa Woods is a total bitch.

“Good. You may leave,” Lexa says, sitting down and pulling her laptop towards her. “I will be holding a department meeting tomorrow at 9 so please ensure you arrive on time.”

Clarke is out of her chair, hand on the door handle before Lexa has even finished speaking.

“Oh and Clarke?” Lexa calls after her.

“Yes?” Clarke grates out, begrudgingly turning around.

“Perhaps abstain from your morning coffee until you arrive at work,” Lexa says, pointedly eyeing the large coffee stain on her shirt. “We wouldn’t want another incident like today, would we?”

Clarke shoots her one last scowl before she stalks out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind her. She decides there and then that she hates Lexa Woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - I hope you enjoyed the chapter.  
> Next chapter we will get to see Lexa's POV and find out more about her background.  
> Hit me up on tumblr at toolateintheday :)


	3. Commander Mode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your comments and kudos - I am loving the feedback and feeling the love.  
> Update is a little later than expected but it is 6k words long so yay :)  
> This is from Lexa's POV and follows her version of events so far.

“Oh, I see. You’d like something more contemporary, would you?” the blonde says sarcastically. “How about go fuck yourself? Hmm? How’s  _that_ for contemporary?”

Lexa feels her jaw slacken in astonishment as this unbelievably rude woman grants her one final scowl and winds up her window. It’s all she can do to watch on as the blonde revs her engine and peels off into the distance, throwing her a middle finger salute as she goes.

Well...that was certainly unexpected.

She sits there for a moment, staring at the spot the woman’s dusty old Toyota had occupied before the beeping of a horn brings her back to her senses. She drives along, still suspended in shock as the GPS barks directions every once in a while.

The next set of lights turn red and she stops, both hands still gripping the steering wheel. Then she does something totally out of character. She laughs. It starts as a quiet giggle and soon grows into a full-on uninhibited cackle as she throws her head back against the headrest and just lets herself go for the first time in ages.

“Welcome back to LA,” she mutters aloud, shaking her head with a grin.

She should probably be angry, furious even. Most people would be after being insulted in such a manner. But she’s not most people.

In a bizarre way, being spontaneously told to ‘go fuck herself’ by an angry stranger feels quite liberating. She can’t remember the last time someone spoke to her like that. Anya, for sure, and maybe Indra once upon a time. But for the most part she’s surrounded by people who both fear and respect her in equal measure. The kind of people who walk on eggshells and cater to her every whim and demand. 

It’s part of the territory when you’re young, successful and in a position of power at a company where everyone knows your name. But the pandering? The false honeyed words? The non-stop attempts to gain her approval? They’re tedious and that’s putting it politely.

Back in New York such behaviour had invaded her personal life too. She could no longer go out to dinner without being recognised by overly zealous restaurant owners or maître d’s. And whilst the free bottles of champagne and specially prepared meals were nice, it just wasn’t what she wanted. Of course she wanted the flourishing career... and the salary that came along with it was nothing to sniff at but those things came at a price.

The price being genuine honesty.

That’s something she craves in her life and it’s especially relevant given what she’s been through in the past few months. There had been plenty of lies and deceit, the likes of which had made her head spin and her heart ache. Still, here she is, back in LA after all this time.

Ten years she’s been gone. A decade. It’s a long time to stay away from home by any measure.

Being back here is a two sided coin; she’s both excited and apprehensive. Essentially this is a fresh start in an old place and whilst there may be a few bad memories here, they’re distant. She’d rather live with the ghosts of the past than deal with some very present wounds in New York.

Anyway, it’ll be different this time around. Lexa’s a whole lot different now than she had been at 18. The girl who packed up her belongings and left the life she knew for a Harvard Scholarship is practically unrecognisable now. She’s older, wiser and has a ton of experience – the kind that can only come from hard work and determination.

The side-effect is that she’s not idealistic like she used to be. She's not a dreamer - she's a realist, practical and pragmatic. She has a reputation and it isn't undeserved by any means.

She remembers how it all began at Trikru; collaring the director when he got out of his town car one rainy November morning. She had shoved her resume into Gustus’s hands and defiantly demanded a job as she stood on the sidewalk refusing to budge, arms crossed and jaw set.

Her sheer audacity had paid off when Gustus gave her that first internship straight out of college. A couple of months in he’d seen her potential and sent her to England for a year, funding her Masters Degree in International relations. She’s never looked back since and whilst it had felt like running a gauntlet at times, no one ever got anywhere by taking the easy route. Get knocked down, get back up. The girl who came from nothing made it big.

Now the next challenge of her career has brought her back to square one, the place she had been desperate to escape all those years ago. The irony isn’t lost on her.

As she drives along her mind wanders back to the blonde stranger and her fiery temper. She wonders what kind of person has the gall to hurl trash at a very expensive car and cuss-out the owner with no regard for the consequences. Someone either fearless or stupid, Lexa surmises.

Too bad she’ll never get to find out. It’s a shame. The girl had been as attractive as she was rude. She’s still thinking about those piercing blue eyes the colour of the ocean as she pulls into the office parking lot beneath the building.

Trikru California is a bit of a black sheep as far as the rest of the company is concerned. They’re the smallest of the five offices based in the US and Europe. The other offices tend to focus on large scale clients; companies that will rake in millions of dollars. The California office, on the flipside, has always been a bit of a niche. They tend to work with smaller local and regional businesses. Their work is of a high quality and the feedback is impeccable but they make the least capital by far.

Gustus has always been happy with the way Indra runs things but as the corporation expands, he has to be realistic about where he puts his investments. The California office has been given a chance to shine with the Polaris bid but it’s drastically different to their usual fare. That’s why she’s here.

She reminds herself of her agenda as she ascends the marble steps leading up to the building’s entrance. Failure is absolutely not an option with Polaris. If they fail to secure the bid, there will be severe repercussions. She doubts the employees working here know to what extent. It’s probably best if she keeps that information to herself and a few select others. Panic en masse is never a good thing.

She steps through the revolving glass doors and head for the reception desk, a quick glance at her watch telling her it’s a couple of minutes to 9.

“Good morning and welcome to Trikru,” the brunette receptionist greets. “Do you have an appointment?”

Lexa nods. “Yes, I have a 9am meeting with Indra Mason. My name is-”

“Lexa Woods, as I live and breathe,” a familiar voice drawls. “I didn’t think you traveled anywhere south of the Hudson.”

Lexa jerks her head up to see Anya striding towards her, trademark scowl replaced with a confident smirk.

“Well you see, I heard this frankly ludicrous rumour that you’d been promoted to Director of Legal Services,” Lexa breezes coolly. “Naturally I had to come and see for myself. Indra must be losing her touch.”

The change in Anya’s demeanour is instantaneous as her eyes narrow and her lips press into a thin line. Lexa doesn’t flinch as the older woman takes a few purposeful steps towards her, drawing to a stop when she’s less than a foot away. Instead she sets her jaw, tilting her head up defiantly to compensate for the height advantage Anya has.

The receptionist looks like she’s about to dive under the desk for cover, eyes darting back and forth between the two women.

The seconds drag on as they stare each other down, both of them unrelenting until Anya’s mouth finally curves into a warm, genuine smile.  Lexa can’t help but return the rare gesture at her former mentor. Anya extends her arm and Lexa grasps it just beneath the elbow in a kind of pseudo-handshake. She can’t remember how this strange greeting started but it’s something they’ve always done as a mark of mutual respect.

Anya lets out a low chuckle. “I see your sense of humour still leaves a lot to be desired. Hasn’t anyone told you that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit?” she remarks with a smirk. A beat passes. “It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Lexa affirms. “Congratulations on the promotion by the way. It’s been a long time coming.”

Anya smiles for the second time in as many minutes and Lexa finds herself doing the same. She turns back to face the desk to see the receptionist looking completely baffled by their friendly exchange. If Anya’s reputation is still what it used to be, Lexa doubts this woman or anyone else working here has ever seen her friend crack so much as a smile.

True enough when she glances at Anya again she’s wearing her usual mask of stony indifference. It’s impressive really, how Anya can change her whole demeanour in the blink of an eye. It’s a skill Lexa learned from her long ago.

“Mona, arrange for Miss Woods’ security pass to be sent up to the fifth floor,” Anya instructs rather than asks. “I will be escorting her to the conference room myself.”

“Sure, can do. Oh, and its Roma, by the way,” the receptionist answers with a smile.

Anya’s head turns so sharply that Lexa fears she’s just given herself whiplash. She fixes Roma with a glare so intense that the brunette visibly recoils.

 “What did you say?”

Roma’s not smiling any longer. She looks genuinely terrified. So she should be, given the dangerous edge to Anya’s tone.

“I, uh...m-my name. It’s Roma.”

Anya continues to glower before slowly arching an eyebrow in challenge. That’s another trait Lexa’s picked up over the years but it’s hardly surprising. When she had first started working in the New York office, Anya had effectively taken her under her wing and taught her everything she knows. Well, at least the stuff you can’t learn from four years of college.

Nevertheless, a large part of her success can be attributed to the woman standing before her. When Anya swapped New York for LA three years ago, Lexa was more capable of holding her own thanks to her mentor’s invaluable teachings.

Mercifully for Roma, the phone rings and she busies herself with answering it. Anya grants her one final scowl before turning in the direction of the elevators, motioning for Lexa to follow.

“New girl?” Lexa asks as they walk.

Anya shakes her head. “No, she’s worked here a couple of months.”

“And you haven’t bothered learning her name?”

“Oh I know her name. I’m just keeping her on her toes. Can’t have the staff getting too familiar with me.”

Lexa grins and shakes her head as they step into the elevator. “You’re still as ridiculous as ever, I see.”

“Were you expecting anything different?” Anya smirks as she pushes the button for the fifth floor.

A silence falls over them as the elevator ascends and Lexa gives herself a moment to take it all in. Right now she feels a strange combination of nerves and excitement. She has a fresh start and a new challenge to look forward to. It’s not going to be easy but the important thing is she’s far away from New York and the drama that had unfolded there.

In a way she feels like the incident in the car this morning could be the universe’s way of telling her things are going to be different here. She’d never voice such a thought aloud. Fate isn’t logical.

“You’re looking awfully chipper,” Anya comments as they reach their floor. “Why?”

Lexa shrugs. “I had a good morning.”

Anya pauses and studies her for a moment. “It’s about a girl isn’t it?” she accuses smugly. “Jesus, you don’t waste any time do you, Woods? Barely in town two days and already you-”

“It’s not about a girl,” Lexa interrupts. Ok, it _is_  technically but not in the way Anya thinks. “There haven’t been any girls.”

_Since_ _her_ is the part she omits from that sentence. She doesn’t want to go into all that, at least not at 9am on a Monday morning when she’s got a busy day ahead. Her head needs to be in the game.

“Fine,” Anya concedes, looking unconvinced. “So anyway, this is the fifth floor where you’ll be based. Your office is down at the end there,” she says, gesturing over her shoulder. “Most of your stuff arrived on Friday and IT have already set up your computer. I’m told that your precious desk was a ‘total bitch’ to get up here by the way.”

Lexa smirks a little at that. “What can I say? I have very refined taste in furniture just as I do in every other area of my life.”

Anya rolls her eyes and mutters something that sounds suspiciously close to ‘pretentious.’ She looks as though she’s considering another sarcastic comment but ultimately decides against it. In the end she directs Lexa down the hall and to the left to the conference room, explaining that Indra and the staff from branding and marketing will already be there waiting. They agree to meet for lunch at 12.

“Knock ‘em dead, commander,” Anya calls after her.

Lexa shakes her head at the ridiculous nickname and keeps walking down the hallway, mentally preparing herself for the meeting. She’s been thinking all morning about the kind of impression she wants to make on the people she’ll have to work with for at least the next two months.

Her approach has always been strictly professional. The people she works with are for the most part colleagues, not friends. There’s the notable exception of Anya who is the only person she counts as her real friend. But speaking from experience, it’s better to remain emotionally detached from the people you work with or else things can become complicated, especially if they do something counterproductive to business. It’s a tactic that has always worked well in New York. Well...almost always.

Gustus had advised her that the LA office was a totally different ballpark. They’re mostly creative types working here, rather than the corporate suits she’s used to. Gustus seems to think her no-nonsense approach could use a bit of warmth. ‘Try to be more compassionate and open to different ideas’ he had said before she left. ‘You’re a visionary, Lexa, but sometimes you get too fixated on your goals.’

 She’d thought that was ridiculous advice. Obviously she’s focused on her goals...that’s why they’re goals. Why should she do anything different when they way she operates has been working for years?

She pauses outside the conference room door wondering whether to just walk in or knock first. Ideally she would have met with Indra prior to the meeting but that little incident with the angry stranger had delayed her a little. Luckily Indra spots her through the small glass window in the door and begins her introduction.

Lexa tries not to blush as Indra lists her various achievements and experience – the woman is really laying it on thick here. When she hears her own name she pushes down on the door handle and steps into the room, head held high and a well-practiced smile in place.

Her nerves about speaking in front of crowds had disappeared long ago. Over the years Anya has coached her in professional body language and how to project an image of confidence. In the interest of negotiation tactics she’s been trained to prevent her facial expressions from giving her away, which is why she’s calm and composed as she shakes Indra’s hand and then turns to face her new colleagues.

There’s around 20 or so faces staring back at her with silent curiosity until someone drops their pencil on the desk. She turns her head and almost forgets everything Anya ever taught her when her own eyes lock onto deep blue ones that immediately widen in shock.

It’s the ‘go fuck yourself’ blonde from earlier.

Lexa’s natural urge is to laugh at how utterly surprised the other woman looks because really, what are the chances? She allows herself a very slight smirk before regaining control and rearranging her features, mask of cool indifference slipping back into place.

As Indra continues to talk, outlining the preparations for the Polaris tender process which begins on Friday, Lexa can still feel the blonde’s eyes on her. Perhaps working in the LA office is going to be a little different than she thought.

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

Working in the LA office is going to be a lot different than she thought.

For a start, she hadn’t envisioned her morning going like this _at all_. She’s frazzled, panicked even, as she exits the conference room and heads towards her office. This is unfounded. Lexa Woods does not panic.

She keeps her eyes locked on a fixed point and walks quickly, hoping to avoid eye contact and thus any unwanted conversations. As soon as she’s safely on the other side of her office door she leans against it, releasing the breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding.

That had been intense. Intense and altogether unexpected.

The angry sranger, or Clarke Griffin, as Lexa had learned she was called, not only works here but would be working directly beneath her.  As soon as she’d learned that little titbit of information, her whole view of their earlier incident had changed drastically. It’s gone from being amusing to decidedly humourless.

She closes her eyes and draws in a deep breath, counting to 10.

There is, of course, no Skype call with the New York office. She just needed an excuse to get out of there and that was the first one that popped into her head. It’s believable at least.

Her heart rate is still erratic as she tries to calm herself down. She had never banked on seeing Clarke again but the fact that she’s going to be in a position of authority over the blonde is problematic for one key reason. If Clarke’s story gets out it will look like Lexa has allowed disrespect to go unpunished. It will damage her reputation and undermine her authority, compromising the entire purpose of her leading this project. It will make her look weak.

There’s no guarantee that Clarke _will_ mention what happened this morning to anyone but she can’t rely on that. There’s one universal truth that can applied to offices all over the world: gossip spreads like wildfire. 

She will have to make it very clear that she is not to be crossed. Laying down the law with Clarke isn’t exactly how she wanted to start things off but she can’t see another option. If Clarke leaves their meeting later and tells everyone she’s a hard-ass it’ll still be preferable to everyone thinking she’s a pushover.

When she opens her eyes again she finds herself looking at a motivational poster on the back wall. It must be left over from when this was Titus’s office and has some cringe worthy quote about teamwork written cross the bottom.

She scoffs as she stalks across the room to tear it down. Pretty fucking rich that a guy who was passing insider information to their biggest rival would have a poster on teamwork. The irony was strong with that douchebag. Lexa had never liked him the handful of times she had met him. You can’t trust a man with a head that shiny, she thinks, crumpling the poster into a ball.

“Is this a bad time?”

Lexa spins round to see Anya standing in the doorway and immediately frowns.

“What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting for lunch?”

Anya ignores her standoffish tone and steps further into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

“We are but I thought I’d come up and see how you were settling in,” Anya drawls as she sinks into a chair and props her feet on the desk. “How did the meeting go?”

“Fine,” Lexa huffs, pushing Anya’s feet off the desk. “Don’t you have work that you should be doing rather than babying me?”

Lexa regrets her words as soon as they leave her mouth. She knows her anger is misdirected and she’s bordering on petulant but this thing with Clarke has got her reeling. She’s at a loss at what to do because let’s face it; this is a pretty unique situation to be in.

“That’s the beauty of being head of the department,” Anya counters, again ignoring her rudeness. “I get to delegate. Now sit down and tell me why you’re in such a foul mood. An hour ago you had some stupid grin plastered across your face. What changed?”

An hour ago I didn’t know that the attractive blonde who made my morning interesting would be causing a potential leadership crisis, Lexa thinks bitterly. No wait, _not_ attractive blonde. Well... _yes_ attractive blonde but she shouldn’t think about Clarke like that. Her appearance does not and will not factor into this mess.

With a sigh she lowers herself into the plush leather chair and massages her temples. Maybe getting Anya’s advice on this one would be beneficial.

 “Fine, I’ll play along,” Lexa relents. “Tell me what you know about Clarke Griffin.”

Anya’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and Lexa doesn’t know if it’s from the nature of her question or the direct manner in which she asked it.

“Clarke Griffin?” Anya repeats unsurely. “From the branding team?”

 Lexa nods once, keeping her expression neutral.

“I don’t know much,” Anya begins with a slight frown. “She’s worked here maybe two years. Indra seems to be satisfied with her work and she always meets her deadlines though from what I hear she had more than a few clashes with Titus over creative direction. Headstrong is probably the right word. Defiant maybe.”

Lexa can’t help but feel a little admiration despite herself. She’s got respect for anyone who stood up to that buffoon. How he remained with the company for so long is anyone’s guess.

 “I haven’t had much interaction with her personally but she seems to be popular with almost everyone here. She gets involved with a lot of the social events,” Anya continues. “Mostly hangs around with Blake and the irritating one from tech support, Reyes. The three of them are thick as thieves.”

The sinking feeling in her stomach is impossible to ignore. From what Anya says Clarke is well liked which means that when Lexa inevitably gives her a stern warning later, the news is bound to travel fast. She reminds herself that being liked by her colleagues is not important; it’s their respect she wants. Though from the sounds of it, Clarke is unlikely to cooperate quietly. It’s a shame that the trait she admires in Clarke will likely be the blonde’s undoing.

“Lexa!”

“What?!” Lexa snaps.

“I asked you why you wanted to know about Clarke?” Anya says exasperatedly. "What's going on?"

Lexa tries not to blush as she realises she must have zoned out. She leans back in her chair and begins to recount the events of this morning to her friend. If she’s lucky Anya won’t ridicule her too much.

When she finishes, Anya remains silent for a long moment. At no point does she laugh.

“This is...rather unfortunate,” Anya says finally. “Not an ideal start by any means.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Lexa agrees bitterly. “You have any advice for me?”

Anya arches an eyebrow. “You know what you have to do?”

“Yes,” Lexa confirms, pressing her lips together. “I was hoping there might be another way.”

“I can’t see one,” Anya shrugs. “Just try not to be _too_ hard on her. You can make your point without going into ‘commander mode.’”

Lexa narrows her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know full well what it means, Lex,” Anya says gently. Lexa’s expression softens at the nickname. “You can get kind of intense when someone challenges you. Just remain professional and don’t let her get under your skin. Remember this isn’t personal.”

Lexa mulls it over for a few moments and then nods. Anya’s right. It isn’t personal, is about business and maintaining the reputation she’s worked so hard to cement. Clarke will have to fall in line like everyone else.

“Good,” Anya clarifies. “Now that that’s out of the way, maybe you could tell me why you’re _really_ here in LA. And don’t give me any of that crap about taking on this role as some sort of favour to Gustus. You’ve more than repaid him over the years and you’re a terrible liar.”

Lexa furrows her brow, suddenly defensive. “You know how important this deal is for the company. You know what will happen if we-”

“Look me in the eye and tell me this isn’t about revenge with Azgeda,” Anya demands lowly, leaning forward in her chair. “Tell me this isn’t personal with Nia.”

Lexa’s expression darkens at the very mention of the name. Everything is personal with Nia Queen. The woman is evil personified. She’s tried to sabotage a number of Trikru’s business mergers in the past with little to no success. There had never been enough concrete evidence to trace any interference back to Nia, of course, she had her lackeys doing the dirty work. However she had managed something even more devastating.

Lexa remains silent. She forgets how easily Anya can read her. They’ve stayed in touch, talking at least once a week and meeting up a couple of times a year. She trusts Anya with her life but even her best friend doesn’t know the full extent of what transpired in New York. Doesn’t know the real truth about what made it so easy for her to up and leave.

Anya sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Look if this is about Costia, I underst-”

“I don’t want to talk about her,” Lexa cuts off sharply. “It was a moment of weakness, nothing more. It’s not relevant.”

Anya casts her a sympathetic look. “Is that truly what you think? Lexa you were in love with her. You-”

“I said not now,” Lexa snaps, bringing her fist down on the table. “Please,” she says wearily a moment later.

A beat passes between them before Anya gets to her feet.

“Ok. So how about lunch? They do a pretty tasty kale salad here.”

Lexa feels the corners of her mouth twitch despie the ache in her chest. That’s another reason why she values her friendship with Anya. The older woman always knows when to push an issue and when not to. Anya respects her boundaries. They’ll continue on like this uncomfortable exchange never happened until Lexa is ready to talk about it.

Lexa wrinkles her nose. “You know I’m all for being healthy but kale should _never_ be described as tasty.”

“This will change your mind, I promise. Come on, let’s go,” Anya says, already walking towards the door. “You can finish tearing down Titus’s ugly posters after lunch.”

Lexa smiles to herself before she picks up her blazer and follows Anya out of the room.

 

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// 

 

Lunch had been a pretty uneventful affair. Anya had introduced her to one of the Legal assistants called Echo and she’d joined them at their table. Lexa had taken a dislike to her almost immediately and made her excuses to leave as soon as she’d finished eating, ignoring the glare she received from Anya.

Now she’s back in her office trying to make the place feel a little more like it belongs to her. So far she’s arranged all her files into the cabinets and lit some candles to get rid of the slightly musty smell. She’s just hanging up the final framed certificate when there’s a knock at the door. With a frown she glances up at the wall clock. It’s 2pm.

Fuck. She hadn’t noticed the time slipping away from her.

She dashes to her chair before getting up again to quickly straighten the wonky frame. When she sits down she opens her laptop and looks down at the screen. It’s blank but Clarke won’t know that. It’s important that she exudes an air of professionalism.

“Enter.”

Lexa keeps her eyes glued to the screen as Clarke gingerly steps into the room. Out of the corner of her eye Lexa can see the blonde hovering uncertainly in the doorway.

“Take a seat. Close the door behind you.”

As Clarke sits down opposite her, Lexa notices the shake of her hands and feels a pang of sympathy. This morning Clarke clearly had no idea who she was. Lexa imagines she’s been filled in on all the particulars now, especially if the not so subtle stares she was receiving across the cafeteria were any indication. The blonde has probably now realised the gravity of her actions. No wonder she’s nervous.

It’s almost endearing when Clarke struggles with the portfolio and then blushes when she drops it on her knees. Lexa has to remind herself sternly that it definitely isn’t allowed to be endearing. This isn’t personal. This _can’t_ be personal. She cannot allow herself to feel sorry for Clarke. 

Finally Clarke’s eyes meet hers and Lexa finds herself transfixed by the most brilliant shade of blue she’s ever seen. They’d been the first thing she’d noticed about the blonde when she’d rolled down the car window this morning but up close they’re even more captivating than first thought.

No, _not_ captivating, she scolds herself. Get a grip, Woods. This isn’t date night.

The silence between them as they stare each other down is intense. Lexa’s about to break the golden rule of business (never speak first during a negotiation) when Clarke makes some bizarre quip about the candles on the window ledge.

Odd. Clarke must be more nervous than she thought.

“Can I get you anything before we start?” Lexa asks. “A mineral water, perhaps? Tea?  _Coffee_?”

Oops. She hadn’t meant to make that clearly sarcastic remark but apparently she just couldn’t help herself. The small pink circles that appear on Clarke’s cheeks in response means she has to bite on the inside of her own cheek to fight off a smile.

“Very well. Let’s begin then,” Lexa presses, gesturing at the portfolio.

She’s all too aware of Clarke’s eyes on her as she flips through the folder. From what she can tell they’ve done a lot of work with coffee shops, boutiques, gyms and other small business. The quality of the work, especially some of the concept art is a lot better than she had been expecting. It shows promise but they’re going to need more than that to secure the Polaris bid. She tells Clarke as much in no uncertain terms.

“Look Lexa, I think we got off on the wrong foot this morning,” Clarke begins.

Oh no. She’s apologising. She can’t be apologising, it makes what Lexa has to do all the more difficult. She was counting on Clarke coming in here and being headstrong and defiant like Anya had mentioned. An apology will throw her plans into disarray. For the second time today she feels panicked.   

“You caught me on a bad day. I’m not usually like that so I wanted to apologise for-”

Lexa raises a palm to silence her. “You don’t need to explain. You were wrong. You let your emotions get the better of you and you reacted poorly. Rest assured that your mistake will not affect our professional relationship.”

Wow. Was that as cold as it sounded? Yes, if the flash of anger that crosses Clarke’s features is anything to go by. Still, at least she’s set the tone. All she needs to do is remain stern and professional.

“Fine,” Clarke agrees cagily. “I was only trying to clear the air. I admit that I reacted poorly but  _you_  still didn’t signal. It wouldn’t kill you to acknowledge that you were wrong too, you know.”

Clarke’s accusation makes something inside her snap. She can tolerate a lot of things; rudeness, swearing and even yelling. But what she cannot abide is being called a liar. Before she knows it she feels herself slipping into what Anya had aptly dubbed ‘commander mode.’

“As I told you this morning, I can assure you that I  _did_  signal,” Lexa retorts in a clipped tone. “I am a highly competent driver. I don’t make mistakes so do not blame me for yours.”

“Sure,” Clarke mutters darkly. “I bet you’ve never done anything wrong in your life.”

Ah, so _there’s_ the defiance.

“If this is your apology you’re doing a terrible job at it,” Lexa drawls. “Not that it’s relevant. I can’t fire you for throwing a tantrum in the middle of downtown LA.”

She’s not even fully sure of what she’s doing as she pushes her chair away from her desk and stands up. All she knows is that she can’t handle the intensity of Clarke’s piercing glare much longer.

“Do you know why they brought me in?”Lexa asks. “From New York, I mean?”

“No.”

 She crosses over to the window, back turned to Clarke in the hopes of composing herself. As much as she hates to admit it, she’s kind of getting a kick out of arguing with Clarke like this. No one ever stands up to her and Clarke might be in the wrong but she’s putting up a hell of a fight. Under different circumstances they might have gotten along well. But it is what it is. She takes a deep breath, knowing that the crushing blow has to come next.

“Then let me tell you, Clarke,” Lexa begins, heading back to her desk. “They brought me in because I get results. I am methodical. I am driven. I am pragmatic. I put the needs of the company before anything else. Perhaps most importantly, I am not ruled by my emotions. I am here for one reason and one reason only: to ensure our success on this project by any means necessary.”

Like hell if it isn’t the truth but she doesn’t realise how robotic she sounds until she speaks the words aloud. Ignoring the sharp rise of Clarke’s eyebrows, she pushes on.

“So let me clarify,” Lexa says lowly, placing both palms on the desk and leaning forward. “I don’t  _need_  you to apologise to me. I don’t  _need_  us to be friends. We don’t even need to like each other. We are colleagues, nothing more, nothing less. Personal feelings and opinions don’t come into it. All I need is for you to follow my direction and respect my leadership. I will not tolerate anything less. Do you understand?”

Wow. That came out a lot harsher than she intended but it appears to have done the job. The look Clarke fixes her with as she nods is one of pure hate.

“Good. You may leave,” Lexa says, sitting down and pulling her laptop towards her. “I will be holding a department meeting tomorrow at 9 so please ensure you arrive on time.”

Clarke is out of her chair, hand on the door handle before Lexa has even finished speaking.

“Oh and Clarke?” Lexa calls after her.

“Yes?” Clarke grates out, begrudgingly turning around.

“Perhaps abstain from your morning coffee until you arrive at work,” Lexa says, pointedly eyeing the large coffee stain on Clarke's shirt. “We wouldn’t want another incident like today, would we?”

Clarke shoots her one last scowl before she stalks out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind her. Lexa watches her go and sighs heavily once the blonde disappears from sight. That last comment had definitely been overkill and she knows it. Against Anya's advice she let Clarke get under her skin and made it personal. With effort she pushes the gnawing feeling of guilt from her mind.

She got what she wanted. Mission accomplished. Clarke will go away and tell all her colleagues that Lexa Woods is the biggest bitch in LA. Her reputation will remain in-tact.

So why doesn’t she feel more relieved?

Behind her the Harvard certificate falls from its hook on the wall, the glass of the frame shattering as it hits the floor. Lexa sighs as she bends down to pick up the shards. At least it’s an appropriate end to a terrible first day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers for reading - please let me know your thoughts on the story so far.  
> I'm also on tumblr at toolateintheday   
> Next update should be in a week or so!


	4. A little respect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke POV  
> That infamous Griffin temper rears its head again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again for all the kudos and comments - I'm glad you guys like the story so far.  
> I hope you're ready for a lot of angst because we're back with Clarke for this chapter and you'd better believe she's mad at Lexa.  
> Picks up right after chapter 3.

Clarke POV

 

Clarke is absolutely livid as she stalks out of Lexa’s office and back onto the floor. Her face is like thunder. Never in her life has she been this infuriated with another human being. She can practically feel the anger radiating from her skin in waves, fists clenched so tightly that her nails bite into the flesh of her palms.

Whilst it was true that there had been numerous conflicts and disputes with Titus in the past, they were nothing compared to this. None of his criticism or belittling had made her see red so quickly or feel quite as intensely. That’s apparently unique to Lexa.

It’s an altogether alien feeling that Clarke isn’t sure how to deal with. The truth is she isn’t an angry person. Not really. Sure, she can be grouchy early in the morning or a little irritable when things don’t go her way but who isn’t? It’s human nature to have an adverse reaction when you’re inconvenienced.

But this right now, the sheer rage she feels, surpasses anything in her own living memory. No one, and she means no one, has ever caused her to experience this sort of explosive reaction, let alone a near stranger.

Lexa could add that achievement to her fucking immaculate resume. Then she could shove it right up her a-

“Clarke?”

She doesn’t pause, barely registering the sound of Octavia calling her name as she marches straight past her work station. She doesn’t know where she’s going but she can’t be in the office right now, not with Lexa sat 30 feet away in her proverbial ivory tower.

She’s on some sort of fury-induced autopilot as her feet carry her to the fifth floor exit, ignoring the curious looks from her colleagues as she storms by. When she reaches the fifth floor landing she decides not to ride the elevator. With the day she’s having it would be just her luck to get trapped in there. No fucking way is she taking that chance. Instead she takes a left into the stairwell, half-running down the flights until she’s pushing open the door that leads to the parking lot.

The parking lot is totally enclosed and a little dingy as they typically are. She heads straight past the rows of cars, resisting the urge to kick a certain someone’s BMW along the way.

She stops when she reaches the back wall of the lot, right in front of the sign that advises CCTV is in 24 hour operation for security reasons. She rolls her eyes as she loosens one of the screws securing it to the brickwork, knowing full well that Raven had angled the security camera away from this particular spot months ago. It meant they could have a quiet place to come to if they needed to take a break.

A break is exactly what Clarke needs right now.

That and something to take the edge off, she thinks, smirking triumphantly as her fingers close around the box of Marlboro Reds concealed behind the sign. The pack has been there almost as long as she’s been working at Trikru and is still half full. She quit smoking a couple of years back but still indulges in the odd cigarette after a few too many beers or when the situation calls for it. Today the situation definitely calls for it.

She sits down on the raised kerb concealed behind an SUV and pulls a cigarette from the deck, placing it between her lips. It’s only then that she realises she doesn’t have a lighter. She curses and holds her head in her hands because why can’t she be granted this one little slice of relief in what is quickly becoming the day from hell.

She doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching and looks up only when she feels the gentle tap on her shoulder. Octavia is looking down at her, expression sympathetic and hand outstretched bearing a silver lighter.

Clarke takes the lighter wordlessly and flips open the top to light the cigarette. It’s stale as fuck. She coughs on the first drag but revels in the slight burn as the smoke hits the back of her throat and the nicotine rush sets in. She holds it down for a second and then sighs as she exhales, plumes of smoke rising into the air in front of her.

She doesn’t protest when Octavia sits down beside her, shoulders close but not quite touching. The silence stretches between them until her cigarette burns to the halfway point and Octavia finally decides to bite the bullet.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Clarke exhales through her nose and shuts her eyes. She replays the events of the last 15 minutes in her head, trying to pinpoint exactly when the shit hit the fan. Maybe she was doomed from the second she made that opening joke about the candles.

“That bad, huh?” Octavia coaxes.

Clarke glances at her out of the corner of her eye and takes another drag. “It didn’t go well.”

“I can see that,” Octavia says softly. A beat passes. “What did Lexa say to you?”

Clarke bristles at the mention of the name. She still hasn’t calmed down at all. She not sure what she’s more angry about; that Lexa totally shot down her attempts at an apology, that she refused to accept any blame for their situation or that she talked down to her like she was some sort of inferior being. What she is sure of is that the woman is rude to the point of being obnoxious.

“It was terrible, O. _She_ was terrible,” Clarke says, frowning deeply as she begins to rant. “Like she basically told me that I’m just another one of her worker drones and that I need to fall in line. I tried to apologise for this morning, honestly I did. But she made it very clear that she couldn’t give a fuck about my apology or my opinion. It’s she’s like some sort of emotionless corporate robot.  How am I going to work with someone like that?”

Clarke takes a final drag and then tosses the cigarette to the floor, extinguishing it with the heel of her shoe as she grinds it into the tarmac.

“Really?” Octavia frowns. “That’s not what I expected. I mean from the way people talk about her she’s some sort of amazingly talented visionary. Surely she can’t have gotten this far in her career by being rude to everyone she has to work with?”

“Yeah, well appearances can be deceiving,” Clarke supplies with a shrug. “Or maybe it’s just me,” she tacks on with a hollow laugh.

Octavia studies her curiously, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “Were you rude to her?”

“Did you miss the part where I said I tried to apologise?” Clarke questions hotly, turning to face her friend.

“No, but were you rude?” Octavia presses.

Clarke’s shoulders slump in defeat. She had been rude but it was only because Lexa’s attitude about the whole thing rubbed her the wrong way. In hindsight maybe she should have just held her tongue instead of making snide comments but her pride simply wouldn’t allow it.

“Maybe...but only after she was rude to me.”

“I think that maybe she was entitled to be a little annoyed, Clarke,” Octavia shrugs. “You did tell her to go fuck herself in mid-morning traffic. If someone had said that to me, I’d be pretty pissed too.”

Clarke’s jaw drops so fast she’s worried she might have dislocated it. Is Octavia really saying what she thinks she’s saying?

“Are you seriously taking her side?” Clarke cries, scandalised. “She didn’t fucking signal! I swear to God I’m gonna have those words carved into my gravestone,” she mutters, eyes rolling to the ceiling.

“No, I’m _always_ on your side, Clarke,” Octavia promises as she reaches forward to take Clarke’s hands in her own. “I’m just saying that telling her you’re sorry and then pointing out she was wrong was counterproductive to doing it in the first place. It’s a bit like apologising for slapping someone by punching them in the face.”

“But she was coming off all high and mighty and I just...”Clarke protests, trailing off weakly.

She knows there’s some logic to what Octavia’s saying but it doesn’t change the way she feels about Lexa’s holier than thou attitude. There’s making a point and then there’s being offensive.

“Look, I’m not saying Lexa was right to react the way she did but maybe don’t start a vendetta against your boss on day one,” Octavia reasons. “Your pride can sometimes be your downfall. Give yourself and her both the chance to cool down and she might see things differently when she finds out how awesome you are at your job. Who knows, she might surprise you.”

Clarke highly doubts that. Though she’s no longer seething like she had been a while ago, she feels nothing but contempt for Lexa. She’s not naive enough to think they’re not going to magically get along just because she comes up with a few good ideas for the project. No, she’s seen the true nature of Lexa Woods which everyone else has yet to realise.

She has no intention of patching things up with Lexa but it would be awfully satisfying to show the brunette the mistake she’s made in underestimating her as some sort of compliant drone that will blindly follow the rules. Titus had made the same mistake and it had gotten him nowhere.

Clarke Griffin is nobody’s tool and she’s never really been a fan of authority. Still, she nods in agreement to keep Octavia happy.

“Fine,” Clarke huffs. “But what if she’s still just as awful when the project begins?”

“Then you can say ‘I told you so’ and schedule a bitching session whenever you want,” Octavia smiles as she gets to her feet. “Deal?”

“Sounds fair,” Clarke agrees as she accepts Octavia’s hand and hoists herself up. “You could use our sessions to vent about Anya,” she adds teasingly. “It could be like a hateful tea party.”

Octavia rolls her eyes as they head back to the building. “Don’t even start me on that one.”

They decide to take the elevator back to the fifth floor, neither of them feeling the desire to traipse back of several flights of stairs.

“What exactly _is_ your problem with her by the way?” Clarke asks when the elevator doors slide closed. “Anya, I mean? You’ve never liked her.”

“Does anyone like her?” Octavia shrugs.“I guess it’s kind of similar to your issue with Lexa. She’s unnecessarily rude. That and she walks around like she owns the damn place.”

“Nothing to do with Raven then?”

Octavia stiffens.

Shit. Clarke had intended for that thought to stay in her head where it belongs.

“Why would it be to do with Raven?” Octavia asks, eyeing her suspiciously.

They don’t talk about _this_. It’s a silent agreement that’s been going on for the past six years. It’s becoming increasingly clear to her that Raven and Octavia are interested in each other in a way that surpasses the boundaries of friendship. There’s always been a spark between them that both parties refuse to acknowledge.

Octavia had dated a guy called Lincoln in her second year of college and it had gotten pretty serious. Everyone in their friendship group had liked Lincoln but Clarke wasn’t blind. She could see that as much as Raven had tried to be happy for Octavia, the relationship had been an emotional blow to the Latina.  That’s why she chose to preoccupy herself with fuckboys like Finn Collins and his superficial charm (she can’t judge, she fell for it too).

By the time they finished college, Lincoln and Octavia had mutually split, deciding they were better off as friends. They’re still in touch though, and Lincoln always swings by for a visit whenever he’s in town.

Still, years later neither Raven or Octavia have made any move towards confessing how they feel towards one and other. Clarke suspects it’s because they’re too afraid to take that next step lest it ruin their friendship. Maybe it’s for the best and maybe it isn’t. She just wishes they’d talk about it before she chokes on all the sexual tension.

But that’s back to rule number 1: they don’t talk about it.

“I just thought you might be sick of hearing her waxing lyrical about Anya’s cheekbones. God knows I am,” Clarke jokes.

The worried creases disappear from Octavia’s forehead as she laughs lightly. Good save, Griffin.

“Ugh, I know. That girl has _the_ worst taste.”

If only you knew the half of it, Clarke thinks, smirking to herself.

She thanks her lucky stars that Indra isn’t waiting for her when she heads back to her desk. Usually you can’t breathe too loudly in this office without the Director of Operations getting wind of it. Finally, some luck.

She types her password into her computer and sets about catching up on her workload, trying not to think about what an absolute whirlwind of a day it’s been. She’s grateful when she doesn’t see Lexa for the rest of the afternoon though every once in a while she caches herself glancing at the now closed office door.

 

 

 //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

When she gets home later that evening the first thing she does is strip out of her coffee-stained clothes and change into an old t-shirt and some pyjama shorts. The second thing she does is grab a beer from the fridge, twisting the cap off and leaning against the kitchen counter as she swallows a large mouthful.

Thank fuck that day is over.

She wanders around the empty apartment which is eerily silent owing to Raven working late tonight. Usually when they get home they’ll kick back with some Netflix or Mario Kart and cook dinner together. Though ‘cook’ is perhaps too generous of a word. The most complicated thing Clarke can manage to put together without burning is mac and cheese. Raven isn’t much better. Is probably why they’re on first name terms with the local pizza place.

She slumps onto the couch and just sits there for a moment, staring into space as her fingers pull at the label on the beer bottle. She should really take advantage of the peace and quiet to do something productive but the residual anger from today’s confrontation with Lexa plays heavily on her mind.

It appears she can’t get Lexa out of her head even though she really doesn’t want her there. There’s one thing in particular about the woman that has been bothering her all day. It was something she had questioned Raven and Octavia on earlier today but neither of them had the answer.

If Lexa’s as amazing as everyone says she is, why is she working in a management position in the smallest office within the company? It just doesn’t make sense.

Granted, Polaris is a big project but why would corporate send her halfway across the country just for that. Lexa isn’t even an authority in branding, she works in...Clarke realises then that she doesn’t know what Lexa’s area of expertise is. She knows next to nothing about her.

That’s about to change, she thinks as she makes her way to the fridge to grab another bottle of beer, picking up her laptop on the way back to the couch. What is it Sun Tzu had said? Know your enemy?

She can’t quite believe she’s paraphrasing The Art of War as she opens up a new internet tab. She scoffs at herself because it’s probably the kind of book Lexa would read if her steely and unwavering nature is anything to go by. She’s probably got it on her bedside table. That’s assuming she actually sleeps in a bed and doesn’t just power down at the end of the day to recharge.

Her first point of call is the company website, it seems like the most obvious place to start. She clicks a tab on the main page titled ‘staff profiles’ and scrolls down until she sees a familiar face that makes her stomach clench.

The profile photo is in black and white but Lexa looks as imposing as ever, dressed in an undoubtedly expensive shirt and hair poker straight. Lexa’s not quite smiling but her expression is soft and relaxed, eyes looking into the camera as though staring directly at her. They’re just as piercing without the forest green hue.

Clarke’s gaze lingers on the photo for longer than it should because Lexa is striking in an effortless sort of way. Even she’s not too stubborn to admit that. It’s just a shame her looks don’t match her personality, she surmises as she scrolls down the page further.

Five minutes later and she’s absorbed all the short profile has to offer along with googling the Forbes ‘30 Under 30’ article from last year that Lexa was featured in. There isn’t an abundance of information but so far she’s learned that Lexa’s full name is Alexandria Woods. She’s 28 years old, has worked with Trikru for six years and is originally from LA. Clarke had already known about her education after seeing the framed certificates in the brunette’s office.

What she had been most surprised to learn was that Lexa is credited as the Director of Business Strategy at the New York office. That fuels her suspicions further. Who leaves a directorial position for a management one? It would be ridiculous given the pay cut alone, never mind anything else. Something isn’t right here.

“Whaddup roomie.”

She gasps and startles so suddenly that she almost launches her laptop across the room as Raven saunters into view. She’d been so absorbed in her ‘research’ that she hadn’t even heard her best friend enter the apartment. 

“You’re awfully jumpy,” Raven observes with a frown. “Whatcha doing?”

Raven throws herself down into the empty space beside Clarke and cranes her neck to see the screen.

“What? N-nothing,” Clarke stammers as she hurries to close the internet tab.

However Raven’s reflexes are freakishly fast and she has the laptop out of Clarke’s hands and into her own lap before the blonde can blink. Clarke makes a half-hearted attempt to get it back but Raven simply scoots to the other end of the couch, grinning all the while.

“Come on Rae, give it back.”

“Oh please, Griffin. You don’t have to be ashamed of searching dirty things on the internet, we all have our vices,” Raven winks, turning her attention to the laptop. “Unless it’s something fucking weird like...oh.”

Clarke blushes despite herself as Raven’s eyes skim across the page. She doesn’t know why she’s so flustered at being caught looking up information on Lexa. It’s perfectly innocent, she has absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, right?

“It’s not what you think,” Clarke supplies weakly.

“Isn’t it?” Raven smirks, looking up from the screen. “Because to me it looks like spying...or perving. So which is it, blondie?”

Clarke feels her cheeks grow hot at the implication. “Neither. I’m researching.”

“Researching?” Raven repeats amusedly. “Is that what the kids call it these days? I usually do most of my researching in my bedroom with the door closed but whatever. I can see why you’d be interested in her, Lexa’s hot.”

“No she isn’t,” Clarke snaps. “She's awful. And I _am_ researching. I need to know the kind of person I’m dealing with.”

“Ah right, the meeting with the boss. Octavia told me you bombed it,” Raven drawls, kicking her shoes off and resting her legs across Clarke’s lap.

Clarke scowls and shoves her feet away. “Your feet smell like boiled cabbage,” she huffs. “And I didn’t ‘bomb it’ I just-”

“Yeah, yeah, you were rude to her, she was rude to you, I got all the sordid details from O,” Raven dismisses, turning her attention back to the laptop. “I thought I told you to be nice?”

“It’s hard to be nice to someone incapable of empathy,” Clarke mutters. “I tried my best.”

Raven hums noncommittally but doesn’t look at her again.

Clarke sighs and takes another swig of beer. She’s still wracking her brains trying to understand why Lexa is here in the first place. LA is not a move that will further Lexa’s career which leads her to believe it must be something with negative connotations. But what? Why? Her internet search hasn’t turned up any clues. She needs help from someone who can provide a more in-depth analysis. Someone who can-

“So what exactly were you trying to ‘research’ anyway?” Raven asks, disrupting her train of thought. “And why?”

Clarke frowns. She doesn’t quite know how to answer. Her suspicions are almost entirely unfounded and based off of one (admittedly frosty) interaction. She just doesn’t get a good vibe from Lexa.

“Just trying to get some background info on her,” Clarke shrugs. “I mean she has no experience in marketing or branding which is what this whole project is reliant on. She has no creative background. It doesn’t add up. At least Titus knew about that stuff.”

“Titus didn’t know his ass from his elbow,” Raven snorts. “And he turned out to be a traitor. We had to up all our computer security he left. That was a pain in the ass. I’m still having flashbacks from working all the overtime.”

“Exactly, he worked at Trikru for years and no one suspected him. Don’t you think it’s weird that she’s joined us just before the Polaris bid against Azgeda?” Clarke points out.

Raven laughs in disbelief. “Come on, Clarke. Are you really saying Lexa is some sort of Azgeda infiltrator sent to sabotage us?”

“No, I’m not saying that,” Clarke protests, knowing it’s a ridiculous notion. “I’m just saying she’s up to something...and I want you to help me find out what it is.”

Raven frowns and cocks her head to the side. “Is this all because she chewed you out today? She kinda wounded your pride, huh?”

“No,” Clarke counters hotly. It’s not _completely_ about that. “I just don’t trust her, ok?”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“Look are you gonna help me or not?”

Raven looks at her for a long moment before she sighs in resignation. “Fine, I’ll help you do some digging if it’ll make you feel better but I don’t know what you’re looking for.”

Clarke doesn’t know either. All she knows is Lexa Woods is hiding something. She’s sure of it.

“Thank you,” Clarke smiles. “Maybe you could get Monty to help? You could make it into one of your fun little projects.”

“Spying on a co-worker isn’t the same as building a badass gaming PC, Griffin,” Raven scoffs. “I’ll ask him though. Who knows, maybe we’ll find out that Lexa is secretly a Calvin Klein underwear model.”

“I doubt that,” Clarke deadpans, getting up from the couch. “Anyway I’m tired, I’m going to bed.”

“She’d be hot enough for it though, right Griff?”

“Goodnight Raven.”

“So if she does turn out to be one, you don’t wanna see the photos?”

“Goodnight Raven.”

Clarke completely misses the knowing look Raven throws her as she leaves the room.

 

 

 ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

Friday rolls around much quicker than she anticipated. Her week has been mercifully Lexa free since Tuesday morning’s departmental meeting which she made sure she was 10 minutes early for, much to the surprise of Octavia and the rest of her colleagues.

She actually can’t recall seeing Lexa since Tuesday - not that she’s been keeping count of the days or anything. Lexa’s probably out meeting clients, socialising and charming them into submission for the sake of the Polaris project. That had suited Clarke just fine. Every day the brunette isn’t in the office is a blessing.

Her luck has well and truly run out today though. She had already spotted the shiny black BMW sitting in the parking lot when Raven drove them here. Today is the day that the real hard work begins. There’s a team briefing at 9am and they’ve all been told to bring along their initial ideas for Polaris.

Clarke herself has been charged with designing a series of new logos and concept art that will eventually feature on billboards and the digital campaign. She’s been up until almost midnight every single night this week trying out different styles and themes. Octavia’s been working equally as hard on the TV advertising side of things.

It’s been incredibly challenging considering they haven’t actually been given a brief yet. Lexa had wanted them to use their own initiative and come up with what they thought would work well. All in all it seems like an odd choice – she had thought Lexa would be far more controlling over their creative content. Maybe she had judged her too harshly after all.

Lexa isn’t there yet when she walks into the Board room. It’s a lot classier than the conference room and has more of a business feel with its black leather chairs and glass paneled walls. She’s made a special effort with her appearance for the occasion, opting for a light blue blouse with a gray blazer. It’s much more professional and polished than her usual casual look but she doesn’t want to give Lexa any excuse to criticise her. Not today.

“You ready for this?” Octavia asks as she sits down. “I hope she likes the stuff we’ve come up with. Harper and I have been busting our asses all week on this.”

“It’s true,” Harper chimes in from two seats down. “There’s like 20 hours of work right here in the palm of my hand,” she says, holding up a memory stick.

“That’s awesome guys, I think-”

Clarke stops dead when she sees Lexa enter the room. She looks equal parts professional and stylish in a tailored black dress that stops just at the knee with sleeves that reach her elbow. Lexa’s hair is pulled back into a neat bun, leaving the expanse of her neck totally exposed. Clarke wills herself not to stare at the tanned skin on show and she definitely doesn’t let her gaze linger on the way the fabric of the dress hugs Lexa’s hips.

She reminds herself that Lexa is her enemy no matter how attractive she may or may not be. Though hating her might be a little easier if the latter were the case.

“Good morning everyone,” Lexa greets, standing at the head of the long table. “I hope you’re all awake and alert this morning as this is a landmark day for Trikru. Today we will be going through the brief from Polaris and what they expect from us as a potential partner. I will then outline how we are going to achieve those goals and succeed in this bid process.”

There’s a general murmur of agreement in response. Clarke grips onto her folder of designs just a little bit tighter. She can’t wait to show the brunette just how competent she is. Lexa’s going to regret ever calling the team’s previous work ‘satisfactory.’

“You’ll recall that I requested each of you to produce a sample of ideas for various areas of the project,” Lexa continues, turning to plug in her laptop. "If you could all please bring those to the front now.”

There’s the sound of chair legs scraping against wood as everyone gets up from their seats, eager to put forth their designs. Clarke is last to put hers on the desk, setting it on top of the pile.

“Thank you all for your effort,” Lexa addresses and for a brief moment her eyes lock with Clarke’s.

She can’t be sure but she thinks she saw a fleeting flicker of amusement in Lexa’s eyes before the brunette turns away and walks over to the corner of the room. Lexa wordlessly picks up the plastic recycling bin and places it on the floor in front of the desk. In one fluid movement she sweeps their collected work into the bin, folders, memory sticks and all before looking at them once again.

Not one says a word. She literally trashed their work. If Lexa wanted to make a statement well then congratu-fucking-lations. She has their undivided attention now.

“I want you all to forget everything you _think_ you know about what this client wants,” Lexa begins, hands clasped behind her back. “You have no idea. Everything you have done prior to this project is nowhere near the standard required for catering to a global company. Cute logos and tongue-in-cheek advertising may have worked with coffee shops and hair salons but this is the big league. We need to turn our attention to...”

The silent rage inside Clarke is building to near breaking point. She can no longer hear what Lexa is saying though she can see her mouth moving as she clicks through a bunch of slides. How dare she come in here and dismiss all their hard work. How dare she come in here and tell them they aren’t good enough. And why has no one challenged her on it? Why-

“Why the hell did you do that?”

Clarke is unaware that she’s spoken out loud until she slowly notices every pair of eyes in the room land on her. Lexa’s expression is unreadable as she fixes her sights on Clarke.

“Did you have something to contribute, Clarke?” Lexa asks, tilting her head to the side.

Yeah, the many hours of work you just threw in the fucking trash.

“I said why did you do that?” Clarke repeats, trying to keep her voice even. “Why ask us to put together a bunch of ideas if you’re not going to even consider them?”

“That was to demonstrate our fresh start on this project,” Lexa says flatly. “If you were listening, I said that you all need to be looking at this with brand new eyes and forget any bad habits that you may have fallen into. I am here to guide you all on this project and I can only do that if we’re all on the same page with no misconceptions.”

So that’s it? She dismissed all their work as a fucking metaphor for a new beginning? Ridiculous.

Lexa turns back to the slideshow, considering the debate over. But Clarke isn’t finished yet. She’s just getting started. Octavia’s whispered "don’t" does nothing to deter her as she straightens in her seat and prepares to knock Lexa down a peg or two.

“Well I hear your _speciality_ is business strategy,” Clarke scathes, raising her voice. “Not sure what that has to do with branding. Maybe you could stand to learn a few things from us?”

A stunned silence falls over the room. Only Lexa had been speaking before but now there’s an unmistakable air of fearful anticipation filling the void. No one can believe she’s done this. Hell, _she_ can’t believe she’s done this.

 Lexa turns to face her slowly, jaw set and green eyes flashing dangerously as they bore into her own. Clarke swallows hard. She knows that beneath that cool exterior Lexa must be livid that she questioned her authority in a room full of her subordinates.

“My _speciality_ is getting stellar results out of my team,” Lexa retorts coolly. “You think you can do a better job? Please, step up. Be my guest. If you have a plan to convince Polaris to depart with $10 million for our services then we’d all love to hear it.”

Clarke remains silent and drops her gaze down to the desk. Of course she doesn’t have a plan, she’d just wanted to draw attention to the fact that what Lexa did was out of line. All she’s gained from this is make herself look a fool whilst simultaneously pushing herself further into Lexa’s bad books.

“Would anyone else care to question my decisions?” Lexa offers. The silence is answer enough. “Then let’s begin.”

 

 

 /////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

Clarke has the good sense not to say anything for the remainder of the meeting. She’s quietly furious, even more so after being humiliated in front of the people she works with every day. Maybe Raven and Octavia have a point about her being too proud but Lexa has definitely overstepped the line here.

As soon as Lexa dismisses them at 10:30 for a break, she’s out of her seat and following the brunette into the hallway with the beginnings of a very bad idea in her head. Lexa’s already halfway to her office when Clarke catches up with her.

“I need to talk to you,” Clarke demands as she draws level with her. “Now.”

“I’m busy, Clarke,” Lexa counters. “My schedule is full. If you want to discuss something you’ll have to set up a meeting just like everyone else. You can make a request via email.”

Lexa quickens her pace, striding ahead to her office and closing the door behind her. Clarke hesitates for only a second before she mutters ‘fuck it’ and pushes down on the chrome handle, following Lexa into the room.

Lexa spins around as soon as she hears the door opening. To her credit she manages to hide her surprise very well, supplying Clarke with a withering stare for her interruption.

“Are you hard of hearing, Clarke, or just insolent?” Lexa deadpans.

“I’m neither,” Clarke retorts defiantly. “We need to talk about the meeting because you-” She spots something on Lexa’s desk out of the corner of her eye that gives her pause. “Wait, you’re _reading my file_?”

Lexa looks at her blankly for a moment before she crosses the room and takes a seat at her desk.

“I’m reading everyone’s file,” Lexa answers, gesturing at another stack behind her. "It’s best practice to familiarise yourself with the strengths and capabilities of the people you have working for you. If you knew anything about leadership you would realise that.”

There it is, Clarke realises, know your enemy. Fucking Sun Tzu. She _knew_ Lexa would be a fan.

“Whatever,” Clarke scoffs. “I don’t care about that. I do care, however, that you just humiliated me in front of my colleagues.”

She’s trying to keep her temper under control but when Lexa’s looking back at her with a bored expression it becomes increasingly difficult. The woman looks like she honesty couldn’t care less.

“Because you tried to undermine me in front of my staff. Surely you expected a retaliation?” Lexa presses, arching an eyebrow.

“Because you trashed all my ideas!” Clarke snaps, losing her reserve.

She had meant to say “our” instead of “my” but she can’t help but feel victimised here. This is the second run-in she’s had with Lexa in less than a week.

“This isn’t personal, Clarke. I discarded everyone’s ideas for the exact same reason. It’s a business tactic, not some sort of vendetta against you,” Lexa counters with a sigh. “You’re being a child.”

There it is again. ‘This isn’t personal.’ The phrase takes her back to their earlier meeting on Monday and she feels a new sense of rage, any incentive to hold her tongue going out the window. Here comes the rant.

“And you’re being an asshole!” Clarke accuses, ignoring the way Lexa’s eyebrows shoot up as she approaches her desk. “You said all you wanted from me was respect. You said it would be mutual but it isn't. You just want us to blindly follow orders. Everyone around here seems to think the sun shines of your ass but I see through it. Respect? I don’t think you know the meaning of the word. You’re nothing but a hypocrite. Or maybe just a liar,” she tacks on bitterly.

She’s clearly touched a nerve because the speed at which Lexa springs from her seat is alarming. Before Clarke knows it she’s stood in front of her, jaw clenched and nostrils flared. She tries not to falter under the harshness of Lexa’s glare, surprised that she’s pushed the brunette far enough to lose her composure.

“Get out,” Lexa grates through bared teeth.

They’re stood close now, barely an arm’s length apart and locked in some sort of intense non-verbal showdown.

Clarke instantly hates herself for the way her eyes dart to Lexa’s lips for a fraction of a second, breath catching in her throat. For a fleeting moment she wonders what they would feel like against her own but immediately dismisses the thought. She simply cannot be attracted to Lexa. She won’t entertain that notion.

“Don’t worry, I’m going,” Clarke hisses, taking a step back.

She turns away, preparing to storm out of Lexa’s office once again. It’s becoming a regular occurrence.

“When I said get out, I meant it,” Lexa calls after her. “Take the rest of the day off and think about what it is you want, Clarke. If you can’t summon the level of maturity required to work with me, don’t bother coming back on Monday.”

Clarke freezes with her hand on the door handle as the reality of what she’s done hits her like a train. She called her boss an asshole. She called her a hypocrite. She called her a liar.

She’s totally fucked it this time. It’s incredibly lucky that Lexa didn’t fire her on the spot.

As if in a trance she walks back to her desk, picks up her bag and leaves, shaking her head at the questioning look Octavia throws her.

She pings an Uber seeing as Raven drove them here and she has no other way of getting home. As soon as she gets back to the apartment she shuts the blinds and climbs into bed, ignoring the various calls and texts that light up her phone.

Before she goes to sleep later that night she thinks about how satisfying it would be to punch Lexa Woods in her stupidly attractive face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...that was pretty intense.  
> Please let me know if you liked it!  
> If you're so inclined you can hit me up on tumblr at toolateintheday  
> As always I'll try to keep updates coming every week or so.  
> Next time: Lexa POV and a realisation that changes things.  
> Also - I know a lot of you are not fans of Clarke right now but please know redemption is on the horizon. What is an enemies to lovers fic without a lot of angst first?


	5. Sounding Board

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive apologies as I uploaded this chapter and it deleted?!?!  
> Anyway...Let me start by saying thank you for the feedback on the last chapter. I don't think I've ever written something that solicited such a reaction.  
> It was really great to see what you guys thought of the developments in the story!  
> But, whether you side with Carke, or side with Lexa, remember we are all team Clexa.  
> This chapter is from Lexa's POV and is the aftermath of THAT meeting.  
> Next time we will be back with Clarke - this chapter was gonna be a split POV but it would have been too damn long!  
> Enjoy!

Lexa glances up at the clock on the wall and lets out a resigned sigh. It’s after six. It would appear she’s carried her habits with her all the way from New York. Though at this point, working late isn’t so much considered a habit as a way of life.

Beyond her office the workspace is uncharacteristically tranquil. Almost all her employees had left at 4 o’clock sharp as they apparently did every Friday. Indra explained that allowing the staff to start their weekend an hour early kept everyone in high spirits and meant they generally worked consistently through the inevitable lull of Friday afternoons.

She has absolutely no qualms with that at all. It’s a great motivational tool. She half-wishes she could have been one of the many people skipping out of the building mid-afternoon as they traded their responsibilities in for a weekend of fun. She silently envies their ability to switch off and forget about their professional lives for 48 hours.

She’s not one of those people. She hasn’t ever been one of those people, at least not as far as she can remember.

Not that she doesn’t take a breather sometimes – it’s just that the opportunity presents itself so rarely these days. Her routine doesn’t exactly take relaxing into consideration unless she counts sleeping, but even a full 8 hours is an ill-afforded luxury.

Each morning she’s up before 6am to squeeze in a gym session before the working day begins. By the time she arrives home it’s usually well into the evening, meaning she’s too exhausted for anything other than a quick dinner and bed.

Those hours where she can just lay back and unwind with a glass of merlot and a good book are few and far between. To her they’re more precious than any amount of money could ever be. People never understand the value of their free time until they have none.

She works relentlessly not because it is required but because she feels like she has a duty to. This company has made her the person she is. Without Gustus giving her a chance all those years ago who knows where she’d be today.

Still successful, probably, given her background but not to the same degree. Gustus had seen the potential within her and nurtured it. Though even he’s commented that she pushes herself too hard more than once.

Closing her eyes, she massages her temples with the pads of her fingers, willing her pounding headache to disappear. It’s been playing havoc with her concentration for most of the day, ever since Clarke unceremoniously barged into her office with a face like thunder and an attitude to match.

Clarke Griffin. Now there’s a hurdle if ever she saw one.

Clarke is...problematic to say the least. In addition to that she’s brash, headstrong and wildly unpredictable. Since the moment she arrived at the LA office, hell even prior to that, Clarke has been little more than an inconvenience to her.

So why hasn’t she just fired her already?

She’d be well within her rights to. Calling your boss an asshole is grounds for a disciplinary hearing, never mind the other inappropriate behaviour. With her connections and reputation within the company, terminating the blonde’s employment would be easy. Lexa could effectively snap her fingers and Clarke would be escorted from the building, possessions in hand, faster than she could say “gross misconduct.”

That again begs the question: why didn’t she?

Honestly, Lexa isn’t quite sure. That’s worrying all on its own. She can’t remember the last time she genuinely doubted herself. Or the last time she had let her emotions get the better of her.

She’s a ruthless business woman: a pioneer in terms of strategy and an expert in her chosen field. She doesn’t allow herself to be distracted by anyone, certainly not unruly blondes with antisocial tendencies.

But earlier she had almost allowed her emotions to take over.

Holding back when Clarke had called her a hypocrite and a liar had taken vast amounts of self-control. She’s been called far worse things in her time yet Clarke had caused that infallible mask of calculate composure to slip, even if only for a few seconds. Somehow, by unknown means, Clarke has managed to get under her skin.

It’s unsettling.

The reality is Clarke has been clouding her mind all day. The girl has come straight out of left field and disrupted her entire equilibrium. She’d barely managed to get halfway through any one task before thoughts of golden hair and furious blue eyes invaded her subconscious. It had irritated her to no end, hence the headache.

Why haven’t you fired her? It’s a question she continues to ask herself without a clear answer.

Maybe it’s because she sees a little of herself in Clarke, that same defiance and conviction to make herself heard above the crowd. Her younger self, that is. She’s long since grown out of the immature behaviour Clarke has exhibited in the past few days. Frankly she was more disciplined at 21 than Clarke is at 25. In business you can’t expect to get ahead by being petulant and stubborn.

She had been surprised, on reading Clarke’s file, to see that the younger woman had received heaps of praise from past clients and senior members of staff alike. It certainly doesn’t measure up to the version of Clarke she’s been presented with.

From that she can only reach one conclusion: Clarke’s recent actions aren’t typical of her usual professional attitude.

 Which leaves two explanations as far as she can see. One, Clarke has an aversion to change and takes issue with someone new taking authority. Or two, she just plain doesn’t like her.

A small part of her hopes it’s the former.

Sure, she’s renowned among her peers for her stoic disposition and ability to separate feelings from duty, but knowing someone doesn’t like you for who you are is never a pleasant feeling. Keeping your emotions in check is a good strategy but there are still some things that sting no matter what.

But still, Clarke has potential. Lexa can sense it. She’s got a knack for these things. Perhaps that’s why against her better judgement she has left the door open for Clarke. It’s a bold move, placing the ball in the blonde’s court but one that will pay off regardless of the outcome. If Clarke decides to come back on Monday then it shows she’s willing to work under Lexa’s direction and buckle down. If she doesn’t...well, good riddance.

 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// 

 

It’s just gone 7pm when she finally leaves the office with a stack of files tucked under her arm. She bids good evening to the security guard and mentally plans out the rest of her night.

If she manages to get through these files before 10 there’s a chance she can catch up on Orphan Black before collapsing into bed. Wondering whether Delphine is alive or not occupies more of her time than she would care to admit. At least she’s managed to avoid any spoilers. It’s one of the benefits of not having any social media. Well, save for an instagram account which contains nothing alluding to her identity.

Feeling around in her purse for her keys, she notes the parking garage is empty save for one other vehicle. It’s a red Pontiac Firebird which looks to be in remarkably good condition. She pauses for a second to admire it, wondering who in the office drives such a thing. It’s probably older than anyone who works here.

She eyes her own car rather sourly as she walks towards it. The BMW is new and reasonably expensive but had been purchased entirely out of necessity. Her favoured vehicle, a 1964 Mustang convertible, sits in a secure garage back in New York for now.

She doesn’t know much about the technical aspect of muscle cars but has always been a fan of the aesthetic. However arriving at the office in a Mustang wouldn’t give the right impression, no matter how cool she thinks it might be.

Once the engine’s running she starts the 25 minute drive to her apartment in West Hollywood. At least it should be 25 minutes by this time. Usually rush hour traffic means it takes a least double that. It’s probably one of the few positives about working late. 

Her hopes of a peaceful drive home are dashed only minutes later. She’s barely made it to Santa Monica Blvd when the car behind her starts beeping furiously and flashing its lights. She opts to ignore it but the driver is persistent, the beeps merging into one continuous blast of the horn.

Glancing in her rear view mirror she can see it’s the same red Pontiac from the office and decides (reluctantly) to pull over. A look in her side mirror reveals it’s a woman getting out of the other car, walking towards her vehicle with a slight limp.

 It’s not until the woman is almost level with her car that Lexa recognises her and swears under her breath. It’s one of Clarke’s friends. She can’t recall her name but it’s the brunette who had openly stared at her across the cafeteria on her very first day. The same one that Anya had dubbed “irritating to the point of exhaustion.”

Great. Not only has she had to deal with Clarke’s hostility, now she’ll have to endure the third degree from one of her friends. The universe hates her.

Mind you, this could be a new record for how many enemies she could make in a day. It usually takes at least a couple of weeks on a new project for people to make their dislike known. Bring it on, she thinks, bracing herself for another bout of verbal abuse as she lowers her window.

When she looks up she’s taken aback to see the woman is smiling at her, expression void of animosity.

“Sweet wheels.”

Lexa blinks.

“Excuse me?”

“I said I like your car. It’s a seven series, right? Sixth generation with a 740e plug-in hybrid variant?”

Lexa doesn’t have a clue what’s going on here. All she knows is its thoroughly bizarre. Did this woman really pull her over just to compliment her or is this some sort of strange prelude before the yelling begins?

“Sorry, I just realised we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Raven. Raven Reyes,” the brunette says, smiling wider still.

Raven sticks her hand through the open window and Lexa shakes it out of habit more than anything. This. Is. Weird. She shouldn’t be surprised. In the grand scheme of things, this week is going down as one of the most trying, unpredictable periods of her life and that's saying something.

“I work in the IT department at Trikru,” Raven continues, leaning into the window a little. “You might have heard my name mentioned in classic office complaints such as ‘Reyes the toner exploded in the copier’ or ‘Dammit Reyes, my computer is on fire again.”

Lexa stares blankly for a second until she remembers that she’s supposed to speak now.

“I’m Lexa Woods. I’m the new-”

“Oh I know exactly who you are.”

Raven smirks and Lexa feels her stomach tighten with trepidation. Ah, of course. Here comes the tongue-lashing she had been expecting. Clarke will no doubt have filled her friends in on this week’s happenings. The blonde has probably painted her as a total hard-ass though she imagines quite a few colourful words were thrown about to enhance that description. She would stake a large sum of money that none of them would have been complimentary.

“Don’t look so worried, I’m not here to chew you out or make some sort of impassioned plea,” Raven grins, rolling her eyes. “Clarke’s my best friend but her business is her own. I’m not going to play the mediator like some goddamn cliché.”

Oh thank god. Though some of the tension leaves her body, it still doesn’t answer the question of why Raven stopped her in the first place.

“I don't meant to be blunt but did you pull me over in the middle of the boulevard for something important?” Lexa questions, outwardly disregarding Raven’s explanation. “Because as nice as it is to hear praise about my choice of vehicle, I do have a schedule to keep to.”

“Oh right, duh!” Raven exclaims, slapping her palm against her forehead. “I just thought you should know your signal light is out. The left one. I’ve been behind you since we left the office and I noticed you haven’t used it once. Unless you just don’t indicate, that is?” she tacks on with a frown.

Lexa’s vision narrows to a pinpoint with the realisation.

Clarke was right.

She didn’t signal that first morning they met. Well, she  _did but_ for all intents and purposes it would appear that she didn’t. No wonder Clarke had been pissed when she straight-up denied any responsibility for their near collision. She would have reacted in the same way. Well...not in  _exactly_  the same way. She would never be so crass as to tell a perfect stranger to go fuck themselves, it would have been much more eloquent and poised than that but the sentiment would have been the same.

She’s not naive enough to think that if she had held her hands up and accepted the blame that she wouldn’t have clashed with Clarke anyway. It kind of feels like they were destined to. It might have made their confrontations less...explosive, but she’s of the opinion that lines would have been crossed and heated words exchanged regardless.

They’re clearly both strong, opinionated women with their own independent ideas and convictions. Put two people like that in a room together and you’re either going to have a meeting of the minds or some sort of catastrophic fallout. How unfortunate that it had been the latter. They’re simultaneously too alike and starkly different.

But right now it boils down to this: Clarke was right and she was wrong on this particular point.

The rest of it; the name calling, Clarke’s refusal to listen, Clarke calling her a liar and a hypocrite – she’s still got all that on her side. It doesn’t change her approach to the Polaris project and she’s still justified in her actions to dismiss Clarke today for all of the above. But this...this is what started it all and perhaps the hostility could have been avoided if only she’d been willing to consider the possibility that she could have been mistaken. But she didn’t know, she didn’t kn-

“But this is a brand new car,” Lexa says more to herself than Raven. “I mean I just picked it up when I arrived in LA.”

“It happens,” Raven shrugs. “Could be that the bulb has blown, could be the wiring. Hell, it could be any number of things. You’re lucky no cops have pulled you over before now. It’s an accident waiting to happen. Don’t sweat it though, you couldn’t have known.”

When she glances up at Raven, the Latina is wearing the beginnings of a knowing smirk but says nothing. She hopes that Raven doesn’t relay this information to Clarke. The “I told you so” speech is something she could really do without. That's assuming Clarke shows up to work again. 

“Perfect,” Lexa sighs, running a hand though her hair. “Now I’ll have to find the time to get it fixed. I don’t suppose you know any good mechanics in the city, do you?”

“You’re looking at the best.”

Lexa arches her eyebrow in question. “You?”

“Yeah, I can do it, no problem. What, you thought fixing copiers and looking this good were my only talents?” Raven teases.

Lexa doesn’t have an answer for that.

“I have a degree in Automobile engineering with a minor in computer science. Honestly, I’m only working at Trikru until I have enough cash saved to open my own shop. Don’t tell anyone that though, especially not Sinclair.”

Lexa can only nod. She doesn’t know who Sinclair is. Though she’s tried to familiarise herself with the staff this past week it would be impossible to learn everyone’s names in such a short amount of time. Raven is being awfully friendly with her considering they’ve only just been introduced. She’s immediately suspicious.

“Why would you want to fix my car?”

“You know most people just say thank you when you offer to do them a favour.”

She cringes internally. She hadn’t meant for that to come off as ungrateful, it’s just that this is a strange situation.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Lexa explains. “I meant why would you want to spend your time fixing my car? You don’t owe me anything.”

She cringes again at her own wording. Why is everything she says recently coming out as rude? She might not be what you’d call a ‘people person’ but she still has manners.

Raven shrugs. “Well, no, but we do work together so I don’t mind helping you out. I don’t know what it’s like in New York but at the LA office we’re sort of like a family. We look out for each other. It’s nice. It’s kinda why I like working there so much...that and the money is good obviously,” she jokes.

Lexa lets her guard down for a moment and smiles just a little, ducking her head so Raven doesn’t see.

Family. That does sound nice. It isn’t really a concept she’s too familiar with seeing as she has none of her own to speak of. None that she would want to associate with anyway. Anya and Gustus are the closest things she has and they’re great, they’ve always looked out for her but sometimes it feels like there's something else missing in her life. It’s not that she doesn’t want to make friends, it’s just that she’s used to keeping people at a distance – that’s the easiest way to avoid being hurt. Unfortunately she has plenty of proof to back that up.

“Look if you don’t want me to it’s fine,” Raven says, holding her hands up. “I can recommend a guy over on-”

“No,” Lexa cuts in abruptly. “No, sorry. That sounds great, I’d be happy for you to take a look at it. Thank you Raven, I appreciate the offer.”

Raven’s face lights up in an instant. “Cool. I can do it on Monday, just be extra careful how you drive it until then, ok? You’ll have to use old fashioned hand signals if you need to take a left.”

“I will,” Lexa nods. “Monday it is.”

“Monday,” Raven agrees, straightening up. “Have a good weekend, Lexa.”

“Yeah, you too,” Lexa calls as Raven walks back to her car.

She sits still for a moment, smiling a little over Raven’s completely random yet kind offer. She regrets being so standoffish earlier but she’s just not used to people being nice to her without an ulterior motive. She would realise how incredibly sad that was if she allowed herself to dwell on the thought.

“Oh and Lexa?”

Lexa cranes her head out of the window. “Yes?”

“I don’t know what went down with you and Clarke today,” Raven begins, fiddling with her car keys, “but just know she’s not a total ass 100% of the time. She’s just...she’s going through some difficult emotional stuff right now. I’m not making excuses for her but I promise she’s not usually this...you know," she shrugs.

Lexa stares for a long moment before she gives the slightest incline of her head and turns her attention back to restarting the engine.

She doesn’t know, obviously. She has no record of Clarke’s behaviour prior to this week and therefore no standard to measure against. And as for the Clarke’s personal life, well, that’s none of her concern. Clarke Griffin’s feelings are none of her concern. Clarke Griffin is none of her concern.

So why does she spend the drive home wondering what demons plague her?

 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

When she finally steps into her apartment she feels an immeasurable sense of relief. As soon as the door closes she can cease being ‘Lexa Woods: award winning business strategist’ and start being just Lexa.

Though not completely, of course. Never completely. She still has the files to go over before she can properly unwind but it won’t stop her stripping off her formal office wear and throwing on some sweats and an old Harvard hoodie. There’s no rule stating you can’t analyse budget reports in comfy attire.

As she walks back through the apartment from her bedroom, she casts an eye over her surroundings. There are still cardboard boxes everywhere, yet to be unpacked. That’ll be a job for tomorrow, along with a myriad of other banal tasks. It’s unlike her to live in a disorganised space but she literally hasn’t had any time this past week to organise her home life. She sets the stack of files on the coffee table, wandering over to the window as she waits for her laptop to power up.

West Hollywood is like a world of its own amidst the buzzing metropolis of LA. It’s an odd sort of place – classy high-end restaurants on one street and nightclubs on the other blasting out unapologetically camp dance music. It’s like one big culture clash but for her, its part of the appeal. That and the fact that it’s pretty much the gay capital of the West Coast. When she made the move from New York she knew it was the only place she wanted to be.

As a kid growing up in the city she’d been fascinated by the kind of people its neon lights and welcoming atmosphere attracted. She’d never been allowed to go there herself, of course. Her parents forbid it. ‘That place is crawling with heathens,’ her mother had said on more than one occasion. ‘It’s full of degenerates and reprobates, Alexandria .’

She supposes that she is one of the heathens now. Good. Anything that will remove her further from the people who ‘raised’ her is just fine.

A series of sharp knocks snaps her out of her momentary daze. She frowns as she walks over to her apartment door, wondering who it could possibly be. Likelihood is it’s a neighbour come to welcome her to the building, no one else knows where she’s living.

When she looks through the peephole she’s grateful for the solid wood of the door separating her from the visitor because the way her eyebrows practically shoot into her hairline is comical.

It’s Anya. Obviously it’s Anya. The woman could find a needle in a haystack or a polar bear in a blizzard. The CIA are missing a trick not having her on their roster.

“Open the door, Woods, I know you’re home,” Anya calls impatiently. “I can hear you mouth-breathing behind the door.”

Lexa rolls her eyes and slides the chain off the door before opening it. There’s a moment where she stares at Anya and Anya stares right back. She notes the other woman is holding a bottle of whisky in one hand and bags of take-out in the oher. It smells delicious.

“How do you know where I live?” Lexa frowns, crossing her arms.

“Oh that was easy,” Anya dismisses with a wave of her hand. “I just followed the smell of Armani Code and pretentiousness across town. Brought me right to your door.”

Lexa’s frown turns into a scowl but she doesn’t say anything else, just slowly arches an eyebrow in silent challenge.

“Alright, you sussed me. I’m friends with the lady in HR, okay?” Anya smirks, unable to keep a straight face.

“I see. Is that the same way you’re friends with the receptionist?” Lexa deadpans.

She assumes Anya probably garnered such information with a thinly veiled threat or two.

Anya scoffs and feigns offence. “She has a name you know.” A beat passes. “Lexa Woods are you going to let me in or not? Because letting this Kung Pao chicken go cold is an insult to Mr Chen and his staff at the Golden Dragon.”

At that moment her traitorous stomach decides to rumble, completely ruining her resolve. She sighs and steps aside to allow Anya past before closing the door and following her into the kitchen area. Unexpected though her friend’s visit may be, she can’t turn down Chinese food, it’s her weakness. That and good whiskey...and attractive women.

“Nice place,” Anya comments, setting the food down on the counter. “Love the shabby chic look,” she adds sarcastically.

“I haven’t had time to unpack yet,” Lexa protests. “I’ve barely had time to breathe.”

She takes two plates from a nearby box and passes one to Anya, rummaging around in another for some cutlery.

“No, but I bet you’ve found time to organise your ridiculous clothing collection,” Anya counters with a smirk as she plates their food. “I bet if I walked into your closet right now everything would be arranged according to colour and occasion. You gotta love that whole Patrick Bateman vibe, right? ”

Lexa bites down on her tongue to refrain from making a comment about Anya and closets.

Anya isn’t wrong though, her clothes  _are_  arranged in that exact fashion. Shirts on the left, dresses in the middle and casual wear on the right. It doesn’t make her predictable, it just makes her organised. Besides she doesn’t have  _that_  many clothes. She just knows the benefits of a polished appearance. Dress to impress isn’t just an idle saying.

“So did you come over just to throw half-assed ‘burns’ at me?” Lexa asks, air quotes and all. “Or is there another reason for you turning up at my door uninvited like a total stalker?”

Anyone who overheard their conversation might think it was bordering on hostile. They’d be wrong. This is just the way their friendship works - trading petty insults that carry no malice. Lexa quite likes it. Anya’s someone she can drop her guard around and it gives her the chance to exercise a part of her personality that she keeps hidden most of the time. Next to no one knows that she has a wickedly sarcastic sense of humour.

“Do I need a reason to visit my favourite little lesbian?” Anya teases, handing a plate over.

“I’m not little, I’m a grown woman,” Lexa grumbles. “And you’re only 4 years older than me.”

“Yes but you’ll always be that eager-to-please junior intern to me. And you’re far too easy to wind up. Did you know that you get this tiny little pout when you’re defensive? It’s adorable, actually.”

Lexa trains her expression into a stone cold glare and Anya laughs.

“Come on, Commander, let’s eat.”

Lexa drops her glare just a little. That nickname is going to follow her to the grave.

 

 

 

They talk as they eat, Lexa mostly content to let Anya ramble about the various goings on in the Legal department. Anya’s about as much of a ‘people person’ as she is though the older woman seems to talk about her team with an air of pride. Lexa’s happy for her. Anya has worked tirelessly to get to where she is now.

It’s only when Anya starts talking about Niylah, the woman she’s been on a couple of dates with, that Lexa becomes withdrawn from the conversation, unable to ignore the sharp pull in her chest. Anya must sense her discomfort because she changes the subject. Anya knows she won’t talk about Costia. Not yet. She still hasn’t fully forgiven herself for being so stupid. Or so blind.

“So how’s your first week been?” Anya asks as she clears their plates. “I’ve hardly seen you since Monday.”

“Where do I begin?” Lexa sighs as she sinks back into the leather cushions of the couch. “It’s been...eventful.”

It certainly has.

“You never did tell me how your meeting went with Clarke Griffin.”

Lexa turns her head sharply and narrows her eyes. Anya’s trying to sound nonchalant but Lexa doesn’t miss the curious edge to her voice. She knows something, which means news of her confrontation with Clarke has travelled.

“What did you hear?”

“I heard you sent her home today. Must have been pretty bad for you to do that.”

“I did and it was,” Lexa admits, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s a long story.”

“Good job I brought this to see us through it,” Anya smirks, holding up the bottle of Jameson.

Lexa shakes her head. “No. I can’t drink. I still have the budget reports to get through and-”

“Lexa, I’m telling you this as your friend,” Anya cuts in sharply, setting a tumbler of whisky in front of her. “You need to relax. You can’t live and breathe work 24/7. Switch your brain off for once, have a drink and fill me in on the Griffin drama. The reports will still be there tomorrow.”

Lexa eyes flit from Anya to the amber liquid before she relents and picks up the glass, throwing it back in one fluid movement. She motions for Anya to refill her glass and downs the second one in the same fashion, grimacing at the way the alcohol burns her throat. Is probably a bad idea, setting the pace this way but it’s liable to make this easier to talk about. Everyone loosens up after a drink or two, even her.

She draws in a deep breath and presses her lips together.

“I think I made a mistake.”

The speed at which Anya’s eyebrows shoot skywards says it all.

Anya wordlessly pours her another drink and Lexa begins to talk. She tells her everything, right from the beginning.

 

 

 

They’re two thirds of the way through the bottle of Jameson when Lexa finishes filling Anya in. She’s been pretty candid about the whole thing, every sip of alcohol bringing her emotions closer to the forefront of her mind. Okay, so she may have got a little impassioned when she was talking about the second showdown she’d had with Clarke but she happens to think she handled it pretty well.

 “Wow.”

“Yep.”

“That was one of the finest examples of poor judgement I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah I know,” Lexa slurs slightly as she pours herself another. “Can you believe she-”

“I was talking about you, Lexa,” Anya cuts in.

Lexa’s hand stills, the bottle of whisky hovering at an angle in mid-air. She looks at Anya, eyes a little unfocused as she takes in her friend’s expression. She’s not sure she heard properly but Anya suddenly looks way too serious.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Anya continues, taking the bottle from Lexa’s hand and setting it down. “I think you made a very poor decision today.”

She feels a wave of anger wash over her at the accusation. Anya is supposed to be on her side. The right side!

“Clarke Griffin called me an asshole and you’re saying I was wrong to dismiss her?” Lexa says sourly. “I’d love to hear your logic on that one. Let me grab a pen because I’d better write down the theory on how you reached that conclusion. That's some serious mental gymnastics right there.”

Anya sighs and leans forward, elbows resting on her knees. “Would you stop being so defensive for a second and let me explain? I don’t mean you made a bad decision about Clarke. Clearly there’s some sort of friction between the two of you which you need to address. Didn’t I tell you not to make it personal in that first meeting?”

Lexa scoffs, affronted. “I hardly made it personal.”

“Making snide comments about the coffee incident and rejecting her apology? It seems like you wanted to get a rise out of her.”

Lexa opens her mouth to protest but Anya raises a hand to silence her. It’s no good arguing with Anya on that point. Not when she’s right. Despite her best efforts, she can’t deny that deep down, maybe even on a subconscious level, there is a personal element to her feud with Clarke. With the amount of alcohol in her system she can admit that but she can’t for the life of her work out why. All she knows is that as infuriating as it is, she also kind of enjoys Clarke standing up to her. Still doesn’t make the blonde any less wrong though.

“Anyway, as I said, I’m not referring to Clarke. I’m referring to that stunt you pulled in the boardroom today,” Anya drawls, filling both their glasses. “It was reckless.”

Lexa frowns as she accepts the drink Anya slides across the table. “It wasn’t reckless, it was a business tactic,” she protests hotly. “A successful one. It gets people focused, demands their commitment and sets the tone of the project without the entire fucking preamble. I don’t have  _time_  to fuck around with niceties, Anya. The Polaris bid is too important.”

She can feel herself getting agitated now. She never usually swears, at least not out loud. The pressure she feels over the task before her combined with the effects of the alcohol are beginning to show the cracks in her facade.

“Besides it’s a tactic that I’ve used in New York dozens of times. The Arkadia merger was-”

“Was nothing like this,” Anya supplies, cutting her off again. A beat passes. “Do you know why Gus asked you to take this job? Why he asked you to lead this project?”

“Because everyone’s fucked if I don’t?” Lexa retorts flatly.

The corners of Anya’s mouth twitch. “Yes and no. He’s worried about you. He thinks you’ve become too involved in your work at corporate to the point where you can’t see anything else. And frankly, so do I.”

Lexa’s head snaps up and she throws Anya a look halfway between confused and irritated.

“Look, I know you’re passionate about your work but you need to take a step back. Yes, Gus chose you because you’re a great leader, and yes, you’re our best chance of success but he wants you to learn something from your time here.”

Lexa listens, intrigued although still feeling a little insulted because what does she have left to learn. She remains quiet though, because Anya sounds like she’s leading up to something here.

“Let me ask you something. Do you really think Clarke was the only one who was pissed over what you did today?”

“Well, no but-”

“No. But no one else is stupid enough to question you after a move like that. These people are not like ones you work with in New York, Lexa. They’re less about numbers and statistics and more about the creative process. Their approach to their work is...unconventional, it’s different. But sometimes a different way of thinking is a good thing.”

She’s having a hard time hearing this. This is the way she’s conducted herself her whole career and it’s never been an issue until now. She comes up with the strategy and people follow it without question. She always gets results. Why should this be any different?

“Look I’m not saying give them free reign but maybe relinquish a little control. Gus doesn’t want you to turn LA into a carbon copy of the New York office. He wants you to encourage their strengths for the sake of this project. Those strong-arm tactics won’t work here and if you keep it up you could end up alienating these people.”

Now that...that terrifies her. Giving up control isn’t something she can just do. If she’s orchestrating proceedings, she is the only one responsible for a possible failure. She  _knows_  her own strengths and weaknesses - there’s certainty in that method.

Letting others in on the action is a gamble – people are unpredictable. But maybe Gus is right. Maybe something unpredictable, something unconventional is what they need.

Anya must sense the internal argument she’s having with herself because she moves to sit next to her on the couch. A second later she feels Anya’s arm wrap around her shoulder.

“Do you remember the first thing I ever said to you?”

“I take my coffee black with two sugars, rookie.”

Anya chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Ok, the  _second_  thing I ever said to you.”

Lexa does remember, of course, the words have stuck with her ever since. “Respect is earned, not granted.”

“Exactly,” Anya confirms. “You need to earn that respect as they need to earn yours. Be someone they can talk to openly about their ideas, not someone they’re afraid of. I really think this team are going to surprise you. Polaris is going to be a difficult nut to crack but the Lexa Woods I know doesn’t shy away from a challenge.”

Lexa sighs and drops her gaze to the floor. “You’re right. You and Gus both. I  _have_  been too involved in my work but its all I have. Maybe my approach so far has been a little overboard but in New York I  _needed_  the distraction. I just needed...”she falters, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Its then that she notices her eyes are stinging with the attempt to hold back tears. Damn the alcohol for letting her speak freely about her feelings. This is why she didn’t want to drink in the first place. It makes her sloppy, it makes her-

“I think what happened with Costia has affected you more deeply than you realise,” Anya says quietly.

Lexa immediately stiffens.

“But that’s okay,” Anya continues, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. “Whatever she did that hurt you...It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. You're allowed to be upset, Lexa. I'd be worried if you weren't.”

Lexa’s shoulders slump as she lets out a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe it’s the alcohol in her system, or maybe it’s because this is the only physical contact she’s had from another person in months, but she doesn’t pull away when Anya hugs her. She simply lets herself be held and sinks wordlessly into Anya’s embrace, head resting in the crook of her neck.

She allows the resolve she’s strived to maintain come crumbing down in the form of silent tears streaking down her cheeks. Suddenly she feels exhausted, like everything that's happened over the past few months is hitting her all at once. When Anya runs her fingers soothingly through her hair and she feels her eyelids begin to droop, she doesn't fight it.

When she wakes up in the middle of the night, she’s alone, blanket draped over her on the couch and a glass of water on the coffee table. She doesn’t panic. Neither of them will mention this again and Anya won’t think any less of her for what happened this evening. It might be true that you can’t choose your family but you can choose your friends. Anya might be the only real friend she has but god is she ever grateful.

She rolls over and goes back to sleep, too tired to get up and walk the short distance to her bedroom. She sleeps soundly for the first time in a long time, her dreams full of golden blonde hair and sad blue eyes. She can't recall them when she wakes up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - I hope you appreciated a little insight into Lexa and as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts.  
> Next time: Raven and Octavia serve up some truth.  
> Clarke realises she might (just maybe) have overreacted and there's more Clexa interaction.  
> In the meantime you can find me on tumblr at toolateintheday :)


	6. Cometh the hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke POV  
> Emotions sure are inconvenient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks again for all your feedback on the story so far - I am loving reading the comments and hearing what you guys think.  
> There's a lot of emotion flying around in the first part of this chapter but it does mean we get to see why Clarke has been acting a little out of character.  
> I've updated a little early because its gonna be at least 2 weeks before I can update again.  
> Anyway - enjoy!

“Griffin, if you don’t open this door in the next 10 seconds I’m going to force my way in! Your choice.”

“Raven, don’t.”

“No, O. This is ridiculous. She’s been holed up in there for almost two days. This pity party needs to come to an end.”

“And you’re gonna what...karate kick the door down? I thought I told you to quit watching those old Claude Jean Van Damme movies. They’re not realistic!”

Clarke groans and buries her face in her pillow as Raven and Octavia’s bickering continues outside her bedroom door. She’s heard this argument about one too many times. At least whilst they’re talking about the inaccuracies in 80s martial arts movies they’re momentarily distracted from their mission to return her to the real world.

Raven’s not lying though, she has been in here since Friday evening, emerging only to use the bathroom and grab a snack when she’s sure her roommate is either out or sleeping. It’s been a weird existence, sneaking around her own apartment, but a necessary one.

 She isn’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now, not even her best friends. She just wants to be left alone. Pity party wouldn’t actually be an unfair description for what she’s doing, even if it does conjure up a pathetic image.

This isn’t the first time Raven has tried to coax her out of her self-imposed solitude. On Friday night Raven had come home in a surprisingly chipper mood despite working late. When she’d knocked on Clarke’s door and gotten no response she’d simply left it alone and gone to bed.

On Saturday Raven had tried to lure her out with the promise of pizza and beer. She hadn’t believed Raven but half an hour later the doorbell rang and the unmistakable smell of cheese and pepperoni wafted through the apartment.

It was a deliberate ploy – Raven knows pepperoni is her favourite and she was willing to bet her best friend had forked out an extra $3 for the stuffed crust. But even the temptation of her favourite junk food wasn’t enough to convince her to leave the safe confines of her room. She knew that as soon as she did, Raven would ask her about Lexa.

Now it’s Sunday. She’s still locked away in her room and Raven has evidently enlisted Octavia’s help. She’s wary and with good reason - the two of them together are unstoppable once they get an idea in their heads. Mischief is definitely on the horizon.

Her phone hasn’t stopped buzzing since Sunday. There are a bunch of texts from the usual suspects; Raven, Octavia, Monty and even a couple from Bellamy asking if she’s ok. She guesses he must be back in town after his business trip. The Blake siblings rent an apartment together over in Westwood though Bellamy is away a lot ever since he landed a job as a Travel Writer. Octavia doesn’t seem to mind because it gives her a bit of independence.

Then there were the two missed calls and a voicemail from her mother. She’d deleted the voicemail without listening to it. At this moment in time, she couldn’t give a single fuck about what Abigail Griffin might have to say. Her mom has really overstepped the line this time.

But that’s a whole other issue. Right now she just isn’t ready to go through the whole rigmarole of explaining everything to her friends. There’s no denying that the anger she feels at her mother and the animosity she harbours for Lexa are connected. Sure, she’s pissed at Lexa, but most of all she’s angry at herself for acting so rashly and lashing out in the most unprofessional of ways.

There’s something altogether inconvenient that she’s come to realise whilst she’s been alone with her own thoughts and it’s this: Lexa was right. She had acted like a child.

The more she replays the events of Friday morning in her head, the more she realises how reckless her own behaviour had been. Yes, Lexa’s ‘business tactic’ had been a dick-move but storming into her boss’s office whilst she was still angry was a mistake. She should have waited until she’d calmed down. Hell, maybe she shouldn’t have said anything at all. She was already on thin ice with Lexa.

Now she’s basically fucking tap-danced all over said ice.

Anger aside, there’s still one thing that bugs her. One thing she simply can’t work out no matter how many times she replays the scenario.

Lexa didn’t fire her.

Clarke’s loathe to admit it, but Lexa would have been well within her rights to terminate her employment or at the very least order her to a disciplinary hearing. She’d done neither.

Why?

She could spend a month straight thinking about it and still not come up with a solid answer. Lexa is still largely a mystery that Clarke knows little about. All she’s got in her back pocket is that the woman is some prodigy of business strategy with a penchant for finely tailored clothes and a no-nonsense attitude. It isn’t really much to go on, hence why she’s asked Raven to do some digging.

Though as much as she doesn’t like Lexa, she’s having moral reservations about that now. She’s not looking for dirt, per say, just information which might not be readily available after a Google search. Still, it’s a shady request that borders on inappropriate.

It’s not something she’d usually do. Telling a stranger to go fuck themselves is not something she’d usually do. Calling her boss an asshole is not something she’d usually do. In fact, much of her behaviour this past week has been totally out of character. She wishes she could write it off as Monday morning’s bad hangover that spiralled out of control but that isn’t true.

This all started little over a week ago with an unexpected invitation from her mother.

“That’s it, Griffin. I’m going to get my toolbox and the hinges are coming off this door!”

Clarke swears under her breath and leaps from the bed so fast that the comforter gets tangled around her legs, causing her to stumble. Raven Reyes tends not to make idle threats. Clarke really doesn’t feel like testing the validity of that statement today.

“Hold your fucking horses, would you? I’m coming.”

When she opens her bedroom door Raven and Octavia are staring back at her, arms folded. Clarke falters when she’s not met with the angry glares she had been expecting. Instead Octavia’s expression reads muted relief whereas Raven wears her trademark smirk, head cocked to the side.

“Told you she’d cave if I threatened to bring the toolbox out.”

“I’ll give you that one. I was starting to think we wouldn’t see her until Thanksgiving.”

She frowns because why are they talking about her as though she’s not there? It’s weird.

Octavia and Raven share a glance and that’s when she knows they’ve been plotting something. Without warning they lunge forward and seize her under each arm, pulling her from the doorway in the direction of the living room. With their efforts combined they’re surprisingly strong.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Clarke demands, digging her heels into the carpet in an attempt to stop them. It doesn’t work. “What _is_ this?!”

When they reach the couch, both of them unhand her and take a step back.

“This,” Raven says as shoves Clarke’s shoulder, “is an intervention, princess.”

Clarke lands in a sprawled heap on the couch, glaring up at her two best friends. Both of them look pretty pleased with themselves if not a little out of breath.

“An intervention?” Clarke scathes. “Don’t you think this is all a little bit dramatic?”

“We love drama,” Raven shrugs.

“Just not the kind that involves you wallowing in your room for days on end like some sort of swamp hermit,” Octavia tacks on.

“I wasn’t wallowing,” Clarke protests.

What a fantastic lie.

“Sure, Griffin,” Raven drawls cockily. “So if I stick my head around your door right now are you seriously telling me I won’t be wading through a sea of cheetos packets and pop tart boxes?”

Clarke just glares because that’s exactly what Raven would find and they both know it.

“Let’s not get off topic here, we already know Clarke’s domestic skills leave a lot to be desired” Octavia jokes, cutting the tension. “Look Clarke, we’re worried about you. And not just because you’ve been ignoring us all weekend. Something’s up with you.”

“Yeah, we’re you’re friends,” Raven tacks on. “We care about you. You know you can tell us anything, right?

Clarke sighs and pulls her knees up towards her chest, arms wrapping around them. She really doesn’t want to relive the argument with Lexa or spill the proverbial beans about her mother but it seems inevitable. She honestly doesn’t know where to begin.

As though she’s read her mind, Octavia speaks up. “Why don’t you start with Lexa and then you can tell us what this is really about.”

Clarke’s head snaps up at that. Octavia and Raven offer no further explanation and merely continue to look at her expectantly. Clearly the both of them are more observant than she gave them credit for. She shouldn’t be surprised. She can read the pair of them like a book, it’s only to be expected they’d be able to do the same.

With a sigh she starts to recount the full run-down of Friday’s fateful meeting, sparing no detail. That includes the part with harsh insults and Lexa’s quietly furious yet controlled reaction.

Raven lets out a low whistle. “Wow. I don’t have enough palm for my face...I can’t believe she didn’t fire you. I mean, I’d fire you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Clarke deadpans.

“No problem,” Raven grins. “You want my advice? Apologise your ass off. She’s not as harsh as you’re making her out to be if she didn’t fire you after that spectacular tantrum.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. Obviously, yes, that’s the only course of action if she wants to keep her job. She turns her attention to Octavia who has been uncharacteristically silent throughout the entire course of her story.

“What about you? Don’t you have anything to say?” It comes out a little harsher than she’d intended.  

“What do you want me to say, Clarke?” Octavia shrugs. “I’d tell you that what you did was incredibly stupid but I don’t think you’re stubborn enough not to have come to that conclusion on your own.”

Clarke presses her lips together and nods once.

“I mean, _why’d_ you do it?” Octavia presses. “I was in that meeting too but you don’t see me storming her into her office and asking for trouble. You have this personal vendetta against Lexa and I don’t even think you know why. It’s gotten totally out of hand.”

Octavia hits the nail on the head.

Clarke has gotten out of hand and she doesn’t completely know _why_. Part of it stems from the fact that Lexa was unwilling to accept any responsibility for their near accident but that should have been easy to brush off. Write the woman off as a jerk, put it behind her and just continue with her job. Problem solved.

 But she hadn’t. There’s something about Lexa that just... _gets_ her. She can’t put her finger on it. Could it be because Lexa had dismissed her as just another one of her employees, someone to fall in line like everyone else? And if that’s the case, why does she want Lexa’s attention so much anyway?

 She shakes off the fluttering feeling in her stomach. She’s not getting into the possibilities of what that could mean right now.

Then the other part of it, the real reason this has all spiralled so horribly out of control, can be attributed to the resentment she feels towards her mother. If she hadn’t received that awfully timed invitation, this whole mess might have been avoided. She wouldn’t have felt the need to go out and get wasted with Raven and she wouldn’t have been running late for work the next day.

 Lexa might still be a bit of a jerk but she realises she’s been channelling her anger from her personal life into her professional one. Clearly it was a poor move on her part because Lexa is possibly the worst target for an emotional outlet she could have picked. No wonder it’s blown up in her face.

Clarke lets out a heavy sigh. “I know it’s gotten out of hand, O, but she was just so unreasonable that I-”

“Yeah, nice try but I’m not buying this,” Raven intones flatly.

Clarke turns to look at her, brows furrowed.

 “I don’t believe that Lexa is the only reason you’ve been so antagonistic this week,” Raven continues. “Seriously, you’ve been super snippy with me and I haven’t even done anything. I get that Lexa pissed you off but you always used to clash with Titus and you never cared about that. There’s more to this and I think I know what it is.”

Clarke watches on as Raven reaches into the pocket of her jeans as pulls out a neatly folded piece of paper. She recognises the gold embossed pattern around the edges and immediately feels a surge of anger.

 “Have you been reading my mail?” Clarke snaps, snatching the paper from Raven’s hand.

“No,” Raven says calmly. “If you look at the front, you’ll see that one is addressed to me. We got ours on Wednesday but judging by how you’ve been acting, I’m guessing you got yours before that.”

“We were gonna wait until you felt ready to talk to us about it,” Octavia adds. “But after what happened on Friday we figured it kind of couldn’t wait.”

Clarke look at them both for a long moment and then stares down at the piece of paper, turning it over in her hands. It’s almost exactly the same as the one she’d received last Saturday morning. When she’d first read it she’d felt sick to her stomach. But now, as her eyes flit over the neatly looped cursive again, she feels numb.

_Dear Miss Raven Reyes,_

_The honour of your presence is requested at the marriage of_

_Abigail Griffin & Marcus Kane_

_On Saturday 14 th October 2017_

_At one o’clock in the afternoon_

_Thornewood Castle Gardens_

_Lakewood, WA_

_Reception to follow_

_Please RSVP no later than 24 th July_

 

Yeah, reading this news a second time definitely doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. It’s not that this has come as a total surprise; she just wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon.

And it _is_ soon. It hasn’t even been two years since her Dad passed away.

 It’s been 702 days.

 She knows this because she thinks about him on every single one of them, mentally marking them off on the world’s most depressing calendar and wishing he was still here. She misses him terribly. Misses the way his eyes would crinkle when he smiled, misses the way he kissed the top of her head when he pulled her under his arm for a hug. She misses the lilt of his voice and his gentle laugh. She just misses _him_.

 There’s nothing in this world she wouldn’t give for one more minute with her Dad.

She remembers finding out he was sick almost three years ago. Cancer. The terminal kind. One word, two syllables, that turned her whole world upside down.

Every night before she goes to sleep she takes his old wristwatch from the drawer in her nightstand and runs her fingers delicately over the inscription on the back. He’d had it engraved for her before he passed away  - his final gift to her. At least they’d had the chance to properly say goodbye to each other. She’s thankful for that. It’s the only part of this whole thing that gives her a small amount of comfort.

“Clarke, are you ok?”

Raven’s voice barely registers in her brain as she crumples up the invitation, hands shaking uncontrollably.

Jake Griffin had made two final requests of the women in his life. The first was that Abby should move on and find someone who would love her as much as he did. The second was that Clarke shouldn’t worry about what anyone else expected of her just so long as she was happy. Both of them promised they would. She’s having a hard time fulfilling her end of the deal even if her Mom isn’t.

Her relationship with her mother is...strained to say the least.

After her Dad passed, they’d both been devastated for lack of a better word. As time went by they grew apart, neither of them really knowing how comfort each other. It seemed like nothing would ever fill the void in their lives.

 But then her Mom met Marcus Kane.

They met at the hospital where her Mom worked almost a year after her Dad had died. Ever since then the relationship has been a bit of a whirlwind. After 3 months, Abby had moved in with him. After 6, they were engaged. And now...now they’re planning their wedding.

She wants to be happy for her mother, truly she does. Marcus is a great guy and clearly cares for her deeply. But at the same time it feels like a betrayal to her father’s memory that it’s all come around so fast.

Maybe the news of the impending wedding would have been a little easier to accept had it not come in the form of an envelope in the mail. But that would have meant actually answering one of her mother’s phone calls. She hasn’t spoken to the woman since they argued after the engagement, constantly ignoring any attempt at communication. Perhaps because she feared exactly this would happen. It’s a wonder her Mom hasn’t turned up at her door yet demanding an explanation.

“Clarke?”

This time it’s Octavia who speaks, her voice soft but altogether too jarring for the silence that’s fallen between the three of them.

“Sorry, I guess I zoned out,” Clarke says, calmly setting the invitation down on the coffee table. “Are you guys hungry? I’m starving.”

Raven and Octavia share a look of concern.

“Clarke, we can talk about this,” Octavia begins cautiously. “You don’t have to pretend that-”

“I’m fine, O.”

She really isn’t.

“I’m gonna order Chinese,” Clarke says, pulling out her phone. “I don’t know about you but I am seriously craving egg rolls right now. Do you wanna split-”

The sound of Raven’s fist slamming against the coffee table causes her to flinch.

“Goddamit Clarke, you’re not doing this!”

“Rae,” Octavia warns, placing a hand on Raven’s shoulder.

“No. No, she needs to hear this,” Raven snaps, getting to her feet. “I get that you’re upset Clarke and not talking about this seems like the easiest option but you can’t just bury your head and pretend like this isn’t happening because it _is_.”

Clarke sets her jaw and glares at Raven defiantly because she really isn’t in the mood for the brunette’s brand of tough love.

“You’re letting this fuck up your life because you don’t want to deal with it and I won’t stand by and just watch,” Raven continues, hands balling into fists at her sides. “For God’s sake, you almost lost your job over it. What’s it going to take to make you see that harbouring all this anger isn’t the way?”

Clarke’s got a million biting retorts on the tip of her tongue just itching to be said. It would be easy, she thinks, to just tell them pair of them to stay out of it, mind their own damn business and leave her to it. It would be easy...but it wouldn’t be right.

“I know,” Clarke says, gaze dropping to the floor. “You’re right.”

Raven’s visibly taken aback, clearly anticipating more of an argument. Octavia reaches for her hand, lacing her fingers with Raven’s as she gently pulls her back down to sit on the couch beside her.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke chokes, voice breaking. “I know you’re only trying to help but this whole situation feels totally fucking helpless. I don’t know what to do. I just, I-I can’t believe how quickly she’s moving on. It’s like she’s forgotten all about him,” she says thickly. “I miss him so much, you know? I just miss him.”

It’s no use trying to hold back the tears now that’s she’s stared. This is her breaking point. She’s been trying to contain her emotions for too long.

Raven and Octavia are at her side in an instant, both of them enveloping her in a tight embrace as she sobs quietly.

She doesn’t know how long they sit there for, Raven’s thumb grazing over her wrist whilst Octavia runs her fingers through her hair, whispering soothing words all the while. It’s as strange as it is beautiful that she has to say so little for them to understand so much. They truly are her best friends.

“For what it’s worth, Clarke, I don’t think your Mom could ever forget Jake,” Octavia says tentatively. “It sounds like she’s trying her best without him but I don’t for a second believe she doesn’t miss him just as much as you do. I only met him a handful of times but I don’t think anyone would be capable of forgetting what a special man he was. There’s a lot of him in you.”

Clarke’s lip trembles as her chest swells with pride. It’s the highest form of compliment she could hope to receive, being compared to her father.

“O’s right,” Raven agrees. “I know it’s tough to accept but if Kane makes your Mom happy, don’t you think you should try and fix things with her? Your Dad wouldn’t want the two of you to fall out like this.”

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head, turning to burrow her face into Octavia’s hoodie.

 She _knows_ it’s the last thing her father would want. He’d be devastated to see the two of them so distant. There are a lot of bridges that need to be rebuilt and trust that needs to be restored but she’s got to believe she can repair her relationship with her Mom. She has to. For her Dad’s sake.

“I’ll call her,” Clarke whispers into Octavia’s shoulder. “I’m going to fix this.”

“We know you are, Griff,” Raven reassures, rubbing circles into her back. “We know you are.”

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

Some time later she finds herself back in her room, staring up at the ceiling from where she lies on her bed. When they’d first moved into this apartment she’ painted the ceiling as the night sky dotted with shooting stars and swirling galaxies. It reminds her childhood. Countless Summer nights spent star-gazing with her Dad in the field behind their house. He’d point out the constellations, naming them in turn as she listened with awed wonder whilst they burned brightly millions of miles away.

It was one of the last things she’d painted. She can’t seem to find the energy, much less the time, to paint these days. Maybe she just needs something inspirational to awaken that passion again.

There are a number of things she needs to do to get her life back on track and break out of this slump for good. After a lot of contemplation, she’s managed to narrow it down to three main points.

 The first thing she’s going to do is swallow her pride and return to work on Monday. She owes Lexa an apology even if the brunette doesn’t choose to accept it. She owes it to herself to try.

Besides, surely it can’t be any worse than the first time she’d tried to apologise. It’ll sting, admitting she was wrong, no doubt about it. She also still thinks Lexa is rude and maybe a little egotistical but they’ll have to at least be on civil terms if she’s got any chance of working on this project.

Secretly she’d been excited about the Polaris bid. It could be a real chance to show off her creative flair and eye for art after being restricted on smaller projects. She’s got a whole sketchbook worth of ideas though after Lexa made it clear it was her way or the highway, who knows if they’ll ever come to fruition.

Comparatively apologising to Lexa is the task that fills her with the least dread. That’s because the second point is to fix things with her mother. It’s bound to be a painful and emotional process but they’ve got to start somewhere. Baby steps, she thinks, vowing to call her Mom in the next couple of days.

The third point...well, that’s her Herculean Labour. It’s to honour the promise she made to her Dad and figure out what will make her happy. There doesn’t seem to be a clear solution to that one.

She rubs her eyes and yawns deeply. Now that the crying has stopped and everything is out in the open she feels emotionally drained, yet somewhat lighter. A good night’s sleep ought to help. It’s true what they say, everything looks better in the morning.

Just before she drifts off she reaches into the dresser drawer, fingers searching blindly until they close around the links of her father’s watch. Its dark in her room but she can just about see the inscription from the moonlight that shines through the blinds.

She grazes her thumb over the words as she always does.

_“Keep on smiling, for me.”_

I’m trying, she thinks. I really am.

 

 

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

The blinds are down on Lexa’s office as she slowly makes her way towards it, two cups of coffee balanced precariously in a cardboard drinks holder. It’s not yet 8:45 which means she’s early to the office by anyone’s standards but she gets the distinct impression that Lexa is the kind of person who starts the working day as soon as the sun comes up.

She subtly checks her reflection in one of the computer monitors as she passes, smoothing down an errant strand of hair. A tremendous amount of effort has gone into her plan of action, including the way she wants to present herself. It shows.

A good fifteen minutes had been committed to scanning her wardrobe for something appropriate to wear. She’d finally settled on a navy Peter Pan collar dress coupled with a pair of black heels to give a professional yet stylish look. Her makeup is light and her hair is pulled back into a relaxed bun save for a few purposeful tendrils that gently frame her face.

It’s a far cry from her usual attire. Trikru doesn’t have the strictest dress code and she’s one of the many employees who take advantage of that. When it comes to office wear she usually settles for something that wouldn’t require the attention of an iron. Today though, today she looks as though she’s ready to take her job seriously.

She’s not the only one impressed by her own efforts. Raven had done an actual double-take when she’d rolled out of bed at 7am and seen her in the kitchen already showered and dressed. Her best friend had mumbled some words of encouragement (at least that’s what Clarke thinks they were) and sloped off in the direction of the bathroom, still half asleep.

Her determination to make amends Lexa has even extended to the coffee. It’s the good stuff from that independent coffee shop on the boulevard rather than something generic from Starbucks. She hopes it’ll help facilitate her apology and smooth things over. Lexa might be a hard-ass but hopefully she’s the kind of hard-ass who likes caffeinated beverages.

As she stands with her fist poised and ready to knock, she begins to have doubts about her plan. She still doesn’t particularly like Lexa, she has no cause to so far, but reaching some sort of neutral ground where they’re not going to be at each other’s throats is a necessity. It’s imperative that she doesn’t fuck this up.  

She doesn’t know what sort of outcome she’s hoping for...a positive one obviously, but what does that actually constitute? A truce? Civility? She doesn’t for a second imagine they’re going to hug and sing kumbaya but-

“Clarke?”

She jumps at the sound of her own name, very nearly making it the second time in as many weeks that she’s spilled coffee on herself. She knows it’s Lexa before she turns around. That voice, simultaneously soft and commanding, would be recognisable anywhere.

“Lexa! Hi.”

She mentally slaps herself. That sounded far too cheery for someone who’s supposed to be initiating peace talks. Get it together, Griffin.

Lexa merely arches an eyebrow in response – something Clarke’s already noticed she’s prone to doing despite only knowing her a short while. There’s a silence between them that stretches a mile long before Lexa glances down at her watch pointedly. Then those vibrant green eyes meet hers again.

“May I help you with something, Clarke?

Something about the way Lexa accents the ‘k’ in her name makes her momentarily lose her train of thought. It’s not unpleasant but it is an unusual pronunciation. That annoying fluttering sensation in her stomach appears for a split second before vanishing again.

“Um, yes. I-I was...I was hoping you could...” Clarke stutters, utterly failing at being composed. “Can we talk? Privately, I mean?” she finally gets out.

Lexa studies her for a long moment, gaze lowering to take in her appearance. For a wild second she thinks Lexa might be checking her out. It’s a crazy thought and she’s not sure where it comes from but before she had time to process it Lexa’s are back on her own again as she nods once in confirmation.

“Yes. Follow me.”

Surprisingly Lexa turns away from her office and stalks off in the opposite direction. Clarke has to do a subtle mini-jog to keep up with her as she leads them past the work stations. She catches Octavia’s eye along the way, her friend giving her a subtle thumbs up as she mouths ‘good luck.’ It does nothing to alleviate her nerves.

They take a left and walk into the break room where a handful of her colleagues are leisurely chatting before their shifts begin at 9. As they enter the conversations stop so abruptly it could be rehearsed. She’s filled with silent astonishment when Lexa manages to empty the room with a well-placed glare and a subtle incline of her head.

She has no idea why Lexa’s decided they should talk in here. Maybe she thinks it’ll be a more relaxing environment than her office...or maybe it’s some sort of ploy. Who knows? When Lexa takes a seat at the small table nearest to them, Clarke takes it as her cue to do the same and sits on the opposite side. This is it: Cometh the hour, cometh the man (or woman in this case).

Great, she's so nervous she's resorted to pretentious quoting. Jesus. 

“Coffee?” Clarke offers, extending the cardboard cup for Lexa to take. “I promise I’m not going to spill it over myself and blame you this time.”

Lexa’s expression is entirely blank, eyes unblinking as she stares across the space between them. Just when Clarke thinks Lexa’s going to tell her where she can shove her coffee, the brunette pulls it towards her, frowning suspiciously when she takes the lid off to inspect the contents.

“Don't worry, It’s not poisoned,” Clarke blurts, grinning nervously.

Lexa doesn’t look as though she found it funny.

_‘Ugh. Always with the jokes, Griffin!’ hisses the voice of reason in her brain. ‘Be serious for once in your life. This is your career and comedy is not an acceptable ice-breaker in this situation. Look how well it went the first time you tried to joke with Lexa.’_

“I can’t imagine you’d be foolish enough to make an attempt on my life,” Lexa says dryly, placing the lid back on. “At least not with an office full of witnesses.”

Wait, was that humour or is she imagining things?

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Lexa clarifies, pushing the cup away. “I’m afraid I can’t drink this.”

She’s definitely imagining things.

“Right, sorry,” Clarke says awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. “I didn’t realise.”

Damn, there goes her peace offering. This is off to a bad start. She _knew_ she should have gone for the soy latte. She fixes her gaze on the table top, wondering where to go from here.

Lexa seems to ignore her obvious discomfort. “What is it you want, Clarke? I have a 9am meeting with the director of finance so please keep it brief.”

Clarke glances up and _oh_ , this might be harder than she originally thought. When Lexa stares back, green eyes unblinking as they bore into her, she almost wishes she’d picked up the phone to her Mom and bitten that bullet first. With great effort she manages to maintain eye contact and summon the courage to say what needs to be said.

“I just thought I should make it clear that I want to continue working here,” Clarke begins. There’s only a slight shake to her voice so that’s something. “You told me not to come back if I couldn’t be mature about this project but despite what happened last week, I want you to know that I _do_ care about this job.”

She hopes that sounds sincere because it’s the truth. Trikru may not be the ultimate career goal but it’s a prestigious company and at least she gets to see the fruits of her labour making a differences to people’s livelihoods. The smile on a business owners face when they see their finished designs, designs she helped to create, is priceless.

From the way Lexa subtly raises her eyebrows she doesn’t look too convinced.

“I also realised that you can’t have gotten to where you are in your career based on bad decisions. Strategy must be your area of expertise for a reason. So I guess what I’m trying to say, Lexa, is that I’m willing to follow your plan for the Polaris bid.”

Good call, Griffin. Laying it on a little thick with the ass-kissing there, but altogether a solid effort. 8 out of 10. Now she just has to prepare herself for the inevitable backlash and smug sense of superiority Lexa will surely throw her way.

Lexa stares at her evenly before her eyes cut away. “Very well. I see no reason why you can’t continue your position. I’m sure your team will be glad of your commitment. Now if that’s all I really have to be going.”

Wait, that’s it? There’s nothing else? No reprimands? No threats to tow the line? She should be relieved but instead she feels oddly empty as Lexa pushes her chair back and makes a move to get to her feet. It’s as though Lexa hasn’t understood how big of a deal this was to her at all. It’s pretty anti-climactic to be honest.

It’s then that she realises she’s hasn’t done what she actually came here to do.

“Stop!” Clarke almost shouts. “There’s something else.”

Lexa pauses to fix her with a questioning glance, already halfway out of her seat.

“I wanted to say I was sorry for the way I acted towards you last week. It was immature and I-”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Lexa cuts her off, straightening up.

Clarke’s eyes immediately fly to the shapely curve of Lexa’s hips as she smoothes the wrinkles out of her dress. She tells herself she’s just envious of the brunette’s impeccable fashion choices when her gaze lingers a little too long.

When Lexa takes a step towards the door she snaps back to reality. She’s not having this again. Denied the chance to apologise twice? It wounds her pride. Does Lexa think she’s doing this for fun or something?

“Yeah, I do need to actually,” Clarke counters defiantly. That earns her a frown. “Please,” she adds softly. “Please let me explain.”

Lexa seems to consider her words for a moment before slowly sitting back down, hands folded neatly on the table in front of her.

“Just let me get this off my chest and I won’t keep you any longer,” Clarke promises.

Here goes nothing.

“I don’t want you leaving this room thinking that the Clarke Griffin you met last week was an accurate representation of who I am. Because it wasn’t. It’s pretty much the exact opposite, actually. I’m not prone to throwing a tantrum just because I can’t get my own way.”

It’s a statement contrary to the evidence. To her credit (and Clarke’s relief) Lexa doesn’t point that out. The brunette says nothing but tilts her head a little to the side as though silently giving her permission to continue.

“I figure its best to just be honest with you so I’m gonna be blunt here,” Clarke shrugs, throwing caution to the wind. “When I saw you walk into the office that morning I panicked. I thought you were going to give me a hard time over what happened between us on the highway and I tried to pre-empt that by presuming you were a bitch before you got the chance to prove otherwise.”

She pauses, chancing a glance at Lexa’s reaction. The brunette’s expression remains unreadable though she thinks she might have seen her lips quirk for a split second. 

“I acted like a total idiot. Don’t get me wrong, when you shot down my apology it pissed me off but I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. I was having a bad week personally and I let it affect my professional attitude. Believe me, I   _know_ I shouldn’t have. At the end of the day you’re my boss and I need to accept that you might have a set method of doing things even if I don’t necessarily agree.”

Lexa straightens in her seat and purses her lips together as though contemplating a response. She kind of looks like she’s struggling and the silence stretches on for so long that Clarke isn’t sure whether she should just cut her losses and leave. She feels like she just bared her insecurities for nothing.

“I’m not trying to make your life difficult, Clarke,” Lexa speaks finally, eyes meeting her own. “I hope you can appreciate the complexity of the task we have before us and understand that certain decisions need to be made regardless of how valid you deem them to be. I want you working with me on this, not against me.”

That’s...a fair response and entirely unexpected.

Clarke nods. “I understand. I think we got off on the wrong foot but hopefully you’ll see that I’m just as committed to the success of this project as you are.” A beat passes. “Maybe we can put all this behind us and start again?”

Wow, Griffin. Way to pull the professional card. That last bit might be overdoing it though...it sounds a little cheesy even to her own ears.

“I hope so. Holding a grudge or harbouring animosity wouldn’t be conductive to business ,” Lexa agrees, standing up once more. “Thank you for your honesty, Clarke. I’m glad we had this discussion. And I accept your apology,” she tacks on.

Clarke’s momentarily stunned, blinking dumbly. She hadn’t been expecting an acknowledgement of her apology given her track record with Lexa, much less a ‘thank you.’

She gets to her feet and offers a tight smile, receiving a curt nod in return.

This all feels very civil. Maybe they can manage civil. In keeping with the theme she sticks her hand out to Lexa in an unmistakable invitation for a handshake. Lexa barely hesitates before accepts the gesture and shakes her hand wordlessly.

Perhaps she imagines it, but when their hands touch she feels a small spark of electricity similar to a static shock and gasps almost inaudibly. She looks up at Lexa, wondering if she felt it too but the brunette quickly drops her hand and averts her eyes. Huh.

“I need to leave for my meeting,” Lexa says, checking her watch as she makes for the door. “You’ll find everything you missed on Friday afternoon in the design brief. I already put the binder on your desk.”

Oh that’s useful, Clarke thinks. She assumed she was going to have to ask Octavia to get her up to speed on what had been discussed on...wait a second...how did-

“How did you know I’d come back?” Clarke blurts out, spinning on her heel to face Lexa. “The binder...on Friday you told me not to come back if I wasn’t ready. How’d you know I would?”

Lexa pauses, halfway out of the door as she looks back over her shoulder. There’s a strange expression on her face that Clarke can’t quite pin down. Lexa looks, dare she say...amused?

“I guess I didn’t.”

With that she’s gone, leaving Clarke alone in the small kitchenette feeling relieved yet thoroughly bewildered. All things considered that went very well. She still has her job and they’d managed not to yell t each other.

Truth be told, their conversation definitely wasn’t what she’d expected. _Lexa_ wasn’t what she’d expected. 

Maybe she shouldn’t have any expectations at all when it comes to Lexa Woods. The woman remains a total mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you liked this latest chapter!  
> As always, I adore your feedback and general thoughts on the story :)  
> Next time: Lexa POV and Raven Reyes is exactly as mischievous as you'd expect.  
> If you're the tumblr sort I'm on there as toolateintheday


	7. Like an idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, thanks for all your kudos and comments - I love your feedback.  
> Sorry this chapter took a little longer than expected but writer's block is a bitch and so is self doubt.  
> This chapter was originally long af but I've decided the next one will be a split perspective which should be pretty interesting.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it :)

Lexa POV

 

When Lexa had pulled into the parking garage at precisely 08:39 on Monday morning she thought she’d known exactly what to expect from the hours ahead. Most of her day was scheduled and she’d checked her itinerary in advance like any self-respecting business woman.

First, a budget meeting with Charles Pike, the Director of Finance, at 9am. Then lunch with Anya at the local sushi place at 12. The rest of her afternoon would be filled with checking her emails and messages. At 4pm sharp she has a skype call booked with Gustus. She’d been prepared for all of the above.

What she hadn’t prepared for was Clarke Griffin.

Or rather she hasn’t prepared for the possibility that Clarke would be waiting outside her office a full 15 minutes before her shift began looking like the embodiment of professionalism.

She figured that if Clarke came back to Trikru at all it would be with her tail between her legs and a salty attitude in tow. She assumed that Clarke would quietly get on with her work and they’d never acknowledge Friday’s altercation. That would have suited her fine.

But she definitely hadn’t anticipated Clarke waving the white flag with an extra cup of coffee in her hand and a sincere apology on her lips. That truly had thrown her for six.

What was even more astonishing was that they’d managed to have an actual conversation without it culminating in an argument.

Perhaps it could be attributed to the change of scenery. After two catastrophic meetings in her office, she didn’t want to make it a third. Call her superstitious but she felt like inviting Clarke into that space again would only be tempting fate. Her office is supposed to be a place where she can focus and collect her thoughts – it’s already tinged with negativity.

Their truce mostly comes down to Clarke’s apparent change of attitude. This morning Lexa had seen her in a new light. When Clarke had talked about how she truly enjoyed her work, Lexa had caught a glimpse of the woman she’d heard about from others - the one who strived for excellence and came highly praised.

Maybe she should also give herself some credit. Instead of shutting Clarke down when she tried to make amends, she’d actually listened and _then_ reacted. It must be something to do with Anya’s warning about “alienating people” echoing in her subconscious.

She can’t help but think that Charles Pike could stand to take some advice from Anya because the meeting he’s currently conducting is snore-inducing. Every couple of minutes she finds herself glancing at her watch to see if time has in fact stopped moving.

Over the other side of the conference table, Indra sits with a bored scowl etched across her features. That’s how she truly knows it’s dire. As he drones on about their budget for printed materials, her mind begins to wander in search of something more stimulating.

She finds herself thinking about Clarke again.

 More specifically she pictures Clarke’s reaction the second she’d realised that she hadn’t been written off as a lost cause. She had practically been able to see the cogs whirring in Clarke’s brain as she processed the information, brows furrowed and mouth comically agape with genuine surprise. She barely manages to suppress a smile at the thought.

Today Clarke’s earnestness and her ability to speak her mind without over-thinking things had left her quietly impressed. There aren’t many people in this world that would disclose their flaws and openly admit to (mistakenly) thinking their boss was a bitch in the same breath. It had been entirely in-keeping with Clarke’s unpredictable nature and though she can’t pin down what the blonde will do next, she rather likes it.

As for her own actions...there’s no forthcoming explanation for why she’d put the binder on Clarke’s desk before she left the office on Friday. She assumed the blonde would probably come back. No one wants to willing make themselves unemployed after all. It’s definitely _not_ like she was hoping Clarke would return.

What had really given her pause was the palpable relief Clarke exhibited when her apology had been accepted. Though it had obviously meant a lot to Clarke, Lexa hadn’t thought much of it. It was second nature, an almost automatic reaction to forgive her.

But Clarke had smiled then, wide and bright. It was the first genuine smile Lexa had seen her give that didn’t stem from nerves or forced politeness.

She decided it wouldn’t be so bad to see that smile again. It had been a beautiful smile after all, the kind that made her eyes sparkle and-

Oh No.

 No. _No_. Not beautiful in the sense that she thinks _Clarke_ is beautiful. Certainly not. Though obviously Clarke is attractive, she concludes reasonably. Anyone with a working pair of eyes could see that. It’s a factual observation. It doesn’t mean that she-

“Miss Woods?”

Lexa visibly jolts out of her thoughts.

“What?” she snaps.

If she sounds flustered it’s because she is.

Pike frowns a little. “I asked you when we should schedule our next catch up.”

Lexa just about manages to suppress a sigh of relief. The meeting must finally be over. Good. Her ass is as numb as her brain after sitting still for the past two hours listening to the ins and outs of finance. She knows the importance of budgeting, but Jesus, does Pike make a mountain out of a mole hill.

“Oh...yes of course. A couple of weeks should be sufficient,” Lexa says, rising from her seat. “I’ll email you with my availability.”

Her answer is vague. She doesn’t do vague. She does precise. Always. It’s a dead indicator that her mind is elsewhere and though Pike doesn’t seem to notice, Indra isn’t so easily side-stepped. Even without looking she can feel the older woman’s penetrating stare upon her.

“Thank you Charles,” Lexa says, grasping his hand firmly. “This certainly has been insightful.”

Ok, now she’s just lying through her teeth.

She bids good bye to Pike and exits the board room as quickly as possible short of actually breaking into a run. She can still feel Indra’s eyes on her back until she rounds the corner to the stairwell.

As she descends the stairs her mind is fixated on one thing and one thing only. It’s a nagging feeling she hasn’t been able to shake since it happened and it’s quite simply this:

What had that peculiar swooping sensation in her stomach been when she shook Clarke’s hand?

By the time she reaches the basement level she resigns herself to the conclusion it must have been sheer relief that their feud is over. It _had_ been causing her a fair amount of stress after all. Besides, it can’t possibly be anything else.

 

 

 

 

For the life of her Lexa can’t work out why the basement level looks so drab and dreary. Obviously she gets the concept: it’s a basement, its underground, there’s no natural light source. But Trikru is a multi-million dollar company. Surely they could afford to spruce things up a bit.

Even more confusing is why management have elected to base the IT department down here away from everyone else. Anya had smirked when she’d questioned the decision and mysteriously told her “you’ll see for yourself why.”

As she approaches the door marked “Tech Support” the sound of muffled rap music grows gradually louder, reverberating around the empty corridor. She thinks she’s beginning to understand Anya’s smugness now.

She knocks on the door twice with no response before entering. There’s a shrill sound of chiming above her head and looks up for the source, noting a brass bell attached to the doorframe. It’s the kind you’d sometimes see in one of those small local grocery stores to announce the arrival of a customer. Odd.

It actually turns out to be the least odd thing about the IT “office.”

“Sinclair, is that you?” Raven’s disembodied voice calls above the music. “I’ve got another one for ya. D’you ever think about how there’s more nipples in the world than people? Crazy right?”

Lexa frowns but doesn’t respond, too preoccupied by the bizarre layout of the room. She takes a few steps forward, eyes roving slowly over the space before her.

 It’s the most disorganised set-up she’s ever seen.

Every work surface is covered in clutter: nuts and bolts, scraps of metal, computer components, empty red bull cans, you name it. To her left the server units are humming away, lights and diodes flashing intermittently. To her right there’s some sort of strange cartoon mutely playing on an old TV set. Atop it rests a dusty jar almost filled to the brim with dollar bills. She guesses it’s a swear jar based on the label which helpfully states “Don’t say the fuck word.”

 Directly in front of her a dark haired man sits in front of an impressive computer rig. He’s got his back to her, feet resting atop the desk as he nods his head along in time to the music that blasts out of an old school boombox. In addition to that cacophony there’s a dull, steady clank of metal against metal coming from beneath the workbench in the far corner of the room.  

She doesn’t understand how anyone can work in this environment. It’s a complete assault on the senses.

The clanking stops and Raven emerges from behind the workbench, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She reaches for her cup of coffee and takes a sip, still yet to notice Lexa standing somewhat awkwardly in the centre of the room.

“Like if you think about it some people even have a third nipple so-”

Raven’s eyes meet her and she cuts herself off mid sentence, clamping her mouth shut. The brunette gawks at her for a few seconds before seemingly remembering herself and dashing forward to shut off the boombox.

Lexa merely arches an eyebrow in response.

“What the hell Reyes?!” the dark haired man protests, features twisted in confusion. “That was the best part you assh-”

He too, stops dead when he spots Lexa out of the corner of his eye. She fights the urge to smirk when he scrambles from the desk so quickly that he very nearly tumbles out of his chair.

“Sorry, I uh, thought you were someone else,” Raven shrugs. “We don’t get many visitors down here. You’ll have to excuse Public Enemy, we needed a little Monday morning motivation,” she tacks on, jerking her thumb at the boombox.

“I see,” Lexa says pointedly. A beat passes. “Do you usually talk to your superiors about nipples? Or is that just Monday morning motivation too?” she deadpans.

The quip leaves her mouth before she can stop herself.

Raven blinks a couple of times before she lets out a snort of laughter. “It’s just a dumb game we play where we state obvious facts that still kind of blow your mind.”

Beside her the dark haired man nods fervently, eyes wide.

“Also Sinclair? My _superior_?” Raven cackles, slapping her hand on the counter top. “I mean for the sake of formality, yes but...ah that’s a good one, Woods. I _knew_ you had a sense of humour beneath that HBIC exterior.”

Lexa masks her surprise at being addressed so informally but Raven seems to realise her error nonetheless, a worried crease immediately appearing between her brows.

She doesn’t chastise Raven for being overly familiar. Usually if anyone gets too personable with her she’d have them quaking in their boots, questioning all their life choices up until this point with nothing more than a stern glare. Not this time, though.

Following an uncomfortable and frankly honest ear-bashing from Anya she’s trying to be less uptight and dismissive of her colleagues. Maybe relaxing her no-nonsense attitude a _little_ wouldn’t be so bad. After all, it had proved a fruitful approach during her conversation with Clarke.

Besides, Raven’s been nothing but up front and honest with her since the moment they met. Her friendly and welcoming nature is almost as refreshing as Clarke’s unapologetic outspokenness. Plus, it’s not like they work with each other directly. Stepping into this room is like stepping into another dimension. No one’s going to know if she allows herself a wry comment or two down here in the depths of Tech Support.

“I’m a woman of many attributes,” Lexa says dryly.

The relief that crosses Raven’s face is instantaneous. “I’ll bet,” she nods. “This is Monty Green, by the way. He’s our resident IT nerd and the most precious cinnamon roll in this whole damn place. Monty, this is Lexa Woods. She’s Clarke and Octavia’s new boss.”

Monty blushes so hard the very tips of his ears turn red.

“So you’re Monty Green?” Lexa confirms, stepping forward to shake his hand. The poor guy’s so nervous he’s actually trembling. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Indra tells me you’re going to help us out with building Polaris’s new website once the design stage is complete. Apparently you’re the best coder in the Bay Area?”

If it’s possible Monty blushes even harder. “I’d never claim that...but yeah, I’ll be concentrating on the technical side of things. I’m pretty psyched to work on such a huge project.”

“And I’m,” Lexa pauses uncertainly, “pretty _psyched_ to have you on the team.”

Lexa cringes internally because the term sounds foreign and stiff coming from her. Ok, so slang isn’t really her style, she can’t pull it off convincingly. Raven’s amused smirk tells her as much.

Luckily Monty’s pager beeps at that exact moment and she’s spared any further awkwardness as he’s called away to deal with a potential virus on fourth. Once he’s gone she’s left alone with Raven who’s still wearing her smirk from before.

Lexa clears her throat. “I left my car in one of the parking bays to the left side of the lot. When you get a chance to look at signal light-”

“Wow, you’re just all business, aren’t you?” Raven cuts in, tilting her head to the side. “I wasn’t expecting us to gossip like schoolgirls but a ‘hey Raven, how was your weekend?’ would have been nice.”

“I’m very busy,” Lexa supplies evenly.

It’s true. She is.

“Not big on the small talk, huh?” Raven cocks an eyebrow. “We’re gonna have to change that if you ever hope to be my friend, Woods. And trust me, that’s something you want in a place like this. If you’re seen associating with me your credibility will soar higher than Sinclair’s blood pressure.”

Lexa’s momentarily speechless but quickly recovers as Raven shoots her a lopsided grin.

“Sinclair should get himself medically tested for hypotension,” Lexa remarks coolly. “Low blood pressure is no joke.”

Raven stares at her for a beat before she bursts out laughing. “Ouch. Guess I walked right into that one.”

She’s not sure if it’s because of Raven’s blatant cockiness or the assumption that they’re going to be friends that she finds the corners of her mouth twitching. Raven is being far too informal but oddly, she doesn’t seem to mind. It could be down to the constant buzzing of the servers making her head fuzzy but she doubts it. Raven seems like a genuinely nice person. Maybe they could be friends.

“Come on, let’s step into my office for a second,” Raven adds, motioning for Lexa to follow her.

Raven’s ‘office’ turns out to be a small desk tucked away into the corner of the room. She takes a seat on the swivel chair whilst Raven plants herself on the edge of the desk, legs swinging back and forth.

Raven’s desk is just as chaotic as every other surface in the room. The divider is covered polaroids that look as though they’ve been taken on a night out. She instantly recognises Clarke and Monty among the myriad of smiling faces stood next to a man with floppy brown hair and a vaguely familiar smile.

What really catches her eye is the glittery heart-shaped photo frame propped up against the monitor. Its gaudy as hell but the photo inside gives her pause. Octavia presses a sloppy kiss to Raven’s cheek whilst the Latina wears a million watt smile. They look like the dictionary definition of love.

She remembers that feeling. Then the familiar dull ache is back in her chest again and she finds herself forcefully swallowing the lump that’s formed in her throat.

“They’re a good looking bunch aren’t they? My friends,” Raven drawls, gesturing to the photos. “Don’t mind the tacky frame though, that’s all O’s doing.”

Lexa nods once. “How long have you been together?”

Raven frowns.

“You and Octavia?” Lexa clarifies.

It’s a pretty personal question and from the brief look of discomfort that crosses Raven’s features, she guesses she’s probably overstepped. But a second later Raven’s cackling raucously.

“Me and Octavia?” Raven repeats disbelievingly as though Lexa has just suggested they should take a day trip to the moon.  “God no, we’re not together. She got me the frame as a Valentine ’s Day joke. I mean that’d be _so_ gross...I mean, not _gross_ gross because she’s like super pretty...but y’know. It’s about as likely as the Washington Nationals winning the World Series.”

Lexa doesn’t have the faintest clue about baseball but she gathers that analogy must be pretty farfetched. Still, it sounds distinctly like Raven is protesting too much. She decides to change the subject.

“So how much access do you need to my car?” Lexa asks. “Should I just leave you the keys or?”

“Oh I already took a look at it this morning,” Raven dismisses with a wave of her hand. “Turns out your bulb is blown. I’ll write down the address of the place where you can buy a new one. Tell Wick I sent you and he won’t rip you off.”

“You don’t need to inspect it or anything?” Lexa frowns. “You can tell what’s wrong just by looking?”

“It’s not rocket science, Lexa,” Raven deadpans. “Trust me, I live and breathe this mechanic stuff. Just buy the new part and I’ll replace it for you by the end of the week.”

“Thanks,” Lexa nods, getting to her feet. “I’d better be going. Just let me know how much I owe you when it’s done.”

“It’s free of charge,” Raven shrugs, sliding off the desk and making a beeline for the door.

Lexa shakes her head, following her through the workspace. “You’re doing me a favour, the least I can do is-”

“Oh please, it’s _you_ who’s doing _me_ a favour,” Raven drawls exaggeratedly as she holds the door open for Lexa to exit.

Lexa pauses in the threshold. “How so?”

“Clarke.”

Lexa frowns. Ok, now she really is lost. What does Clarke have to do with this?

Raven rolls her eyes. “Look, Clarke has been sulking around the apartment all weekend like a dragon with a sore head. Seriously, it was a nightmare. Then at 9am this morning I get random a text saying lunch is on her with like five smiley face emojis. Doesn’t take a genius to work out why. You guys kissed and made up, right?”

Lexa’s genuinely surprised, and not just at Raven’s poor choice of wording (though it does immediately summon mental images of Clarke’s lips curved up in the smile she’d seen earlier). The real surprise is that Clarke’s obviously pretty elated at the outcome of their conversation. She’d assumed Clarke would feel relieved to have resolved their animosity because really, who needs that unnecessary drama in their life? But to be the source of her good mood? It’s unexpected. It’s also kind of uplifting.

 Why is that strange fluttering sensation back in her stomach again?

“We came to a mutual understanding,” Lexa supplies, slipping her mask of indifference back into place. “It’s imperative for both of us to maintain civility in a professional capacity.”

“Sure, whatever you want to call it” Raven breezes. She smirks like she knows something Lexa doesn’t. “I’m just grateful that my best friend’s back to acting like a normal human being again...well, normal by our standards. So thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Lexa says.

It sounds stiff and leaves them in a silence that borders more on awkward than uncomfortable. It feels odd to be thanked for such a thing but Raven’s still smiling at her like she’s genuinely grateful. Not knowing what else to say, she gives Raven a final curt nod and turns to walk back down the corridor. She catches the slight droop of Raven’s smile out of the corner of her eye as she does so and feels a little deflated.

Raven’s one of the few people in this place who speaks to her like she’s an actual normal person and not a walking, talking power suit. It’s not like making friends is one of her goals, but maybe having someone besides Anya and Gus to call a friend would be nice. Eventually. Baby steps, she thinks.

She’s halfway to the stairwell when she grins to herself, remembering something Raven had said earlier.

“Hey Reyes,” she says, looking over her shoulder. “Did you know that things are never on fire? Fire is always on things.”

Even in the dull light of the corridor she can make out Raven’s face scrunched in confusion. “What?”

“It’s a mind-blowing fact,” Lexa drawls, turning back in the direction of the stairs. “You can tell that one to Sinclair.”

There’s a momentary silence before Raven guffaws and then descends into a fit of cackling. Lexa can still hear her laughter echoing off the walls as she begins her ascent back to the fifth floor.

 

 

 

 

Thursdays are Lexa’s least favourite day of the week. They’re the Antarctica of days – vast, grey and bleak, stretching on seemingly forever. In short, they suck.

This Thursay has the distinction of being _literally_ all of those things as a rainstorm materialises seemingly out of nowhere to test her. Really, who ever heard of thunder and lightning in the middle of July? And in California of all places? In the short dash from the parking lot to the office she’s practically soaked through, holding her briefcase above her head in an effort to salvage her clothing.

Her efforts are for nothing, apparently, as Anya delights in telling her she looks like a drowned rat when they pass each other in the foyer. Lexa subtly flips her off and huffs her way up the stairs to the fifth floor. It would be a hell of a lot easier to take the elevator but she’s not a fan of enclosed spaces. It’s something that spans back to her childhood that she’d rather not think about. Apart from riding it in with Anya on her first day she’s avoided it entirely.

Besides her now uncomfortably damp clothes, there are a number of other factors concerning this particular Thursday which have contributed to her bad mood. The first is that for only the second time in her entire career she’s late for work. True, she could pretty much turn up at whatever time she wanted but being punctual is something she takes pride in. The unwarranted weather had caused havoc with the morning traffic.

The second is that her Skype meeting with Polaris’s Executive Vice President has been pushed back by a week. She’s never met Thelonius Jaha but he’s already low in her estimations for postponing a meeting that she’s done an obscene amount of prep work for.

The third comes in the form of an email forwarded from Gustus. Nia Queen has given a candid interview to the Business Times about Azgeda’s involvement in the Polaris bid. Opening the link to see that smug face had been enough to awaken the burning hatred within her. She can’t wait to absolutely crush the competition when it comes to presenting their final proposals two months from now.

She may not have a creative background, but strategy? That’s her expertise. She lives and breathes it. Hell, she could forget more about the subject than most in her field would ever know

 

 

 

At around 10am though, her bad mood changes. It happens when she’s sat at her desk staring pensively out the window. Her thoughts are still of Nia Queen, of Azgeda, and by association, Costia.

Nia may not be the best strategist in the industry but she _is_ ruthless. That’s why Lexa insists on overseeing every aspect of this project. She visualises it like a game of chess: play your strengths and always be planning your next move. That’s exactly what Nia will be doing.

Lexa wouldn’t put it past the bitter old harridan to try and sneak another of her spies into Trikru much the way she did with Titus. No. She will not be taking her eye off the ball this time. Not after what happened with Costia. Not after-

She shakes her head in an attempt to dislodge the thought. It won’t do her any good to dwell on that now. Instead she focuses her attention back onto the street outside and watches as a couple of distant figures run towards the bus shelter in a forlorn attempt to escape the rain. Its the heavy kind – the relentless sort that bounces off the asphalt as it hits the street. It’s a perfect example of pathetic fallacy if ever she saw one.

Kudos to her ninth grade English teacher for that one – it’s a term she never thought she’d use in real life. However now as the thunderous storm clouds swirl up above, it feels entirely appropriate.

A knock on the door distracts her from her brooding. She turns her head, puzzled. Her schedule is clear for the rest of the morning unless there’s some meeting or another that she’s neglected to factor in. Some commitment she'd forgotten about.

That would be ridiculous. She never neglects her duty. Every aspect of what she does is organised and accounted for.

“Enter.”

When the door opens and she catches a flash of blonde hair she immediately straightens, knowing it can only be one person. Since they stared anew on Monday her interactions with Clarke have been perfectly civil and dare she say it, bordering on pleasant. Granted, she hasn’t seen much of the Marketing Executive since then but she’s still chalking it down as a positive.

Though she can’t offer a valid explanation as to why her heart seems to skip a beat when Clarke peers into the room.

“Is this a bad time?” Clarke asks, hovering in the doorway. “I can come back if you’re busy.”

“I’m always busy,” Lexa says wryly.

It’s not mean. The way she says it with an edge of amusement to her tone is _almost_ teasing. She’s not sure why but she feels an odd sense of satisfaction when a hint of pink appears on Clarke’s cheeks.

“But if there’s something you need to discuss about the project then by all means come in,” Lexa adds, gesturing to the chair opposite her desk. “That’s what I’m here for after all.”

Clarke smiles and steps fully into the room closing the door behind her. Lexa notes she’s dressed well again today in a form-fitting white blouse tucked into a navy blue skirt. Her golden hair falls in loose curls around her face, swaying slightly with every step she takes.

Clarke takes a seat and crosses one leg over the other, skirt inching higher up her thigh as she does so. Lexa chooses to ignore the way her mouth goes dry when her gaze momentarily lingers on the newly exposed skin, smooth and pale in contrast to the navy blue fabric.

She tears her eyes away because she’s a professional. It’s inappropriate to make such observations about your employees even if they are particularly attractive. That’s just business 101.

Only when she looks up again, Clarke is regarding her with a curious expression, lips slightly curved to one side. For a terrifying moment Lexa thinks she might have been caught looking where she shouldn’t but then Clarke speaks and the thought is abandoned.

“Firstly, apologies for my dishevelled appearance,” Clarke says, gesturing vaguely to her hair. “I got caught in the rain on the way here and as you can see from the frizz levels, it didn’t end particularly well for me.”

“You still look nice.”

Clarke’s eyes widen in response.

Lexa clamps her mouth shut so quickly she hears her teeth click together. _You still look nice?_   Where in the world did that come from? They’re being civil here, not friendly. Definitely not _flirty_.

“I mean you’re fine,” Lexa blurts. Clarke arches an eyebrow. “I mean you look fine... acceptable...normal,” she clarifies.

Jesus Woods, drawls her inner monologue. Why don’t you just tell her she looks hot and _really_ boost her self-esteem? Or better yet, do a full 180 and tell her she looks terrible to cover your gay ass. You’ve given speeches and led presentations in front of literally hundreds of people and you’re getting tongue tied over a pretty girl. A pretty girl who until 4 days ago was a massive thorn in your side, by the way. Get it together!

Lexa swallows and trains her features back into a neutral expression, completely ignoring the bemused look Clarke is currently giving her.

“So what can I do for you Clarke?” Lexa asks tersely, shuffling the papers on her desk to give her hands something to do. “I wasn’t being glib when I said I was busy.”

Ignoring that little blip seems to have worked because Clarke’s own expression changes, her smile replaced by a look of sincerity.

“No, of course not. I actually wanted to talk to you about the design brief,” Clarke says. “I’ve been reading over it and researching for the past few days but I’m a little unclear on what I’m supposed to be doing.”

Lexa purses her lips. “Was my specification not detailed enough?”

It should be. There are almost 20 pages of notes on Polaris’s background as well as some information on Azgeda as their competitors. She’d compiled it herself with some input from Indra and Gustus and it covers everything from previous campaigns to current objectives along with some helpful web links for further reading.

Two weeks into her stint as Branding Manager and she’s making waves in the best possible way. Already she’s set Octavia, Harper and the rest of the interactive advertising team to work on researching Polaris’s past video marketing to identify weak points and highlight improvements. The Legal team are doing their part. Finance are on board. She’s also assigned a team of three others to look at the existing brand identity, key messages and social media presence. Everything is ticking along smoothly.

“God no, it’s definitely detailed enough,” Clarke confirms, nodding vigorously. “Like seriously, you must have covered every possible question or query in that binder – it’s amazing.”

Lexa wills herself not to let that go to her head. People complimenting her organisational skills is her weakness. Anya would definitely call that pathetic but she doesn’t care. It’s a reasonable thing to be proud of.

“Then I don’t understand. What seems to be the problem?”

Clarke chews on her lower lip in contemplation and Lexa wishes she didn’t find it adorable. No, _not_ adorable. God this has to stop.

“It’s just...unless I’m mistaken I can’t see that you’ve assigned anyone to help me with the logo design,” Clarke says hesitantly. “Everyone else seems to be preoccupied with other tasks. It kind of...it kind of looks like I’m doing it alone?”

Lexa nods. “You’re correct.”

Drawing up the preliminary designs for a new logo was the final task to be assigned in the planning stage. It’s possibly the single most important visual aspect of the project. It’s the first thing customers will envisage when they think of Polaris as a brand. A huge part of the success of this project rests upon producing a stellar logo.

By the look of utter astonishment that crosses Clarke’s face she seems to have come to that realisation too.

Lexa stands by her decision. Choosing Clarke is the most sensible option. The blonde’s background is in art, she’s creative and the main brunt of her work on past projects has been centered on logo design. Clarke’s good at what she does - Lexa knows this. She’s seen the evidence in her file. Also she might have come across Clarke’s Instagram profile completely by accident...and accidentally seen some of her artwork...which may have accidentally affirmed her decision. Accidentally.

“Wait you’re really gonna trust _me_ with that?” Clarke blurts disbelievingly. “Even after how I acted like a total dick last week? I mean I’m honoured you think I'm capable but just...wow,” she adds breathlessly.

“Do you really want to be drawing my attention back to your past behaviour?” Lexa counters with a hint of mirth.

She’s bordering on teasing again and it’s definitely not in keeping with her usual, strictly professional tone. She has a general rule not to engage in any humorous banter with her colleagues though Anya (and perhaps now Raven) is the exception. It tends to blur boundaries. But when Clarke blushes and drops her gaze, Lexa finds herself caring less and less about her own rules.

 “I told you that I read all my employees files to assess their strengths and weaknesses for this project. You’re being chosen based on your competence and abilities, regardless of how you may or may not have acted, and I quote, ‘like a total dick.’ It’s as simple as that. So yes, I do trust you, Clarke. Don't make me live to regret it.”

Clarke snaps her head up at that and their eyes meet across the desk. Lexa finds herself transfixed by brilliant blue orbs shining with an emotion she can’t quite discern. For a long moment they stare at each other in near silence, only the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock to indicate the seconds passing by. It’s not tense, but it _is_ intense. Some unspoken subtlety has shifted between them and she feels as though she’s seeing the real Clarke Griffin for the first time.

“I won't. Thank you for trusting me,” Clarke says, voice shaking slightly. “And thank you for giving me this opportunity. I promise I won’t let you down.”

Pride, Lexa concludes. That’s the feeling written all over Clark’s face as her lips curve into the softest of smiles. She allows herself to smile back for a fleeting moment, thinking that maybe, just maybe, they’re starting to understand each other a little better.

“I know you won’t,” Lexa nods sagely. “We both want the same things, Clarke.”

And they do. They both want to succeed. They both want to prove their worth. Lexa’s motivations might be different to Clarke’s with the fate of nearly 200 jobs resting on her shoulders but they both want the same result. Knowing she has someone as talented and capable as Clarke on her side relieves some of the pressure...even if it’s just temporary.

"Is there anything specific you want in terms of design" Clarke asks. "Because you haven't given me an outline and at that first group meeting you were pretty...shall we say adamant about overseeing the creative process."

Lexa tries not to wince at the memory. It's true, she does like to be in control and she will have the final say on any artwork but she'd perhaps asserted herself too harshly previously. That's why she decides to do something totally out of her comfort zone and relinquish some of that highly valued control.

"You're the artist. Just do what you think is best and we'll review the options together."

Clarke beams.

Lexa can scarcely believe she's just allowed that to happen. Placing a major responsibility in the hands of someone else? Someone she's never worked with before? Its feels kind of odd. But it also feels kind of good...and surprisingly easy. She hadn't been lying. She _does_ trust Clarke not to screw this up. 

Clarke’s still smiling warmly and Lexa’s doing her best not to abandon all resolve and grin like an idiot because that smile...something about it is so damn contagious. Suddenly she’s all too aware that the odd swooping sensation in her stomach is back with a vengeance. She wonders whether it’s still down to relief.

At that moment her desk phone rings, startling them both and preventing her from processing the thought any further. A glance at the caller I.D. tells her its Anya. Of course it’s Anya. She always did have impeccable timing.

“I’ll let you get that,” Clarke says, getting to her feet. “Thanks again. I’ll bring you some of the initial designs I’ve been working on once I tidy them up a bit.”

Lexa nods distractedly as she reaches to pick up the phone. “Sure, whenever you’re ready,” she says, fingers fumbling over the handset.  

For some reason her palms are sweaty. On the third attempt she manages to pick up the receiver and then immediately drops it onto the desk with a clatter, cringing at the noise. In her haste to pick it up again she sends the stack of papers on her desk fluttering to the floor.

Clarke lets out an amused snort and Lexa’s feels her face glowing like a beacon for all the hapless lesbians in the world. Back in New York people might have called her the Commander but in this rare moment she’s far from composed and calculated. Right now she’s God’s perfect idiot.

Finally she manages to get purchase on the phone.

“Lexa Woods speaking.”

She can practically hear Anya’s eye roll through the receiver.  “I know who you are idiot, I called you.”

She ignores the salty tone. “What can I do for you?”

Whatever Anya says next doesn’t actually register in her brain because Clarke’s bending to pick the papers up from the floor, one by one. If Lexa’s eyes happen to land on the curve of her ass then it’s purely coincidental. Clarke is directly in her eye line after all. Where else is she supposed to look?

There’s definitely nothing sexual about it. Nothing sexual at al-

“Lexa!” Anya’s voice is shrill in her ear.

“Yes?”

“I just asked you twice if you got my email about the legal briefing. Have you gone deaf or something?”

“Erm yes I...”

She hasn’t gone deaf but she might be temporarily rendered speechless as Clarke gives her a small wave from the doorway, mouthing another ‘thank you’ before she disappears from sight. Lexa waves back in a similar fashion before freezing on the spot, hand still poised in mid-air.

Oh no.

In a daze she puts the phone down on Anya who had until this point been hurling insult after insult down the line. That’s bound to piss the older woman off but she can deal with the consequences of that later. Right now she’s got a bigger problem. A much bigger problem. Colossal, even.

She pushes herself out of her chair and paces the length of her office back and forth, trying to rationalise the situation.

All the signs are there. Smiling like an idiot. Waving like an idiot. The sweaty palms only an idiot would have...

No. No way. She refuses to acknowledge what that probably means.

In an instant she’s striding through the workspace and using her keycard to exit the fifth floor. When she reaches the stairwell she breaks into a run, moving as fast as her legs will carry her. She doesn’t stop until she reaches the Legal Department on 2, catching Anya’s glare as she walks into the unfamiliar office.

She’d rather throw herself at the mercy of her best friend’s notorious temper than be left alone to deal with her own thoughts. It’s definitely the lesser of two evils.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers for reading, please let me know if you dig the story so far.  
> As always, I'll aim to update within a week!  
> Next time: more Clexa, a little conflict, and a classic fanfic trope.


	8. Going up?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mixed POV Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your continued support on this fic - I am loving all your comments and thoughts.  
> Update a little later then expected but this chapter is a casual 8k...  
> Mixed POV on this one so we get a sense of where both Clarke and Lexa are at.  
> I hope you enjoy it!

Clarke POV

 

“I’m starving.”

“No, you’re dramatic. Stop whining”

“I can’t believe your lack of empathy right now. Here I am, weak and in dire need of pizza and all you can say is ‘stop whining?’ Some friend you are, Octavia Blake.”

“You say this like I didn’t just see you inhale a bag of chips 10 minutes ago.”

Clarke grins and shakes her head from her spot on the opposite couch as she flicks through TV channels. Raven and Octavia have had almost this exact same argument at the same time every month for the past 3 years. That’s because the second Thursday of every month is pizza night. No exceptions.

It’s tradition that the three of them get together after work, drink a couple of beers and catch up with each other. Occasionally Bellamy and Monty will swing by but tonight it’s just the three of them lounging around Clarke and Raven’s apartment, waiting for the delivery guy to show up.

 Clarke may live with Raven and the three of them may work at the same company but there’s rarely any time to actually socialise save for the 40 minutes they get for lunch. Even so it’s pretty rare that they all get to take lunch at the same time with them all working on different things. Having a night where they can just shrug off their responsibilities and hang out is always welcome. In fact, it’s often the highlight of Clarke’s month.

“Clarke, help us settle this debate,” Raven says, turning to face her. “Pineapple on pizza: yay or nay? And don’t spare our feelings. O promises not to get mad when you pick the obviously right choice...which is pineapple every time.”

Clarke resists the urge to roll her eyes. She has zero intention of getting dragged into another debate like this again. The memories of the 2015 mayonnaise discourse and the resulting fallout still haunt her to this day. Raven, bitter about losing had spiked the mayo in the refrigerator with an ungodly amount of ghost chilli sauce. Never again is she picking sides in a food related argument involving her two best friends.

“You can’t influence her decision!” Octavia protests, nudging Raven with her foot for good measure. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is you being against improving the nation’s favourite junk food with a genius stroke of fruity deliciousness.”

“Genius, my ass. It’s a crime against humanity, that’s what it is.”

“You’re right. Your ass _is_ a crime against humanity.”

Raven cackles at her own joke before she receives a swift cushion to the face from Octavia. When Raven emerges smirking from behind the cushion she launches herself at Octavia, straddling her hips and pinning her hands above her head. Octavia tries to do her best to wriggle free as Raven begins an onslaught of merciless tickling with her free hand but it’s no use. Raven’s a lot stronger than she looks.

Clarke watches on with a grin as they both descend into fits giggles interspersed with plenty of swear words. Then, as though a switch has been flicked in her brain, the smile slides from her face and her amusement fades away leaving behind an oddly hollow feeling in her chest. She pushes herself up from the couch and makes a beeline for the refrigerator to grab another beer.

Raven and Octavia have been her best friends for years but sometimes when they’re all together she can’t help but feel she’s intruding on something significantly more intimate. They may not have admitted their feelings for each other but Clarke knows, knows it in her heart, that the two of them are meant to be together. Sometimes she thinks she’ll be well into her second set of dentures before it happens...but it’s inevitable.

A quick glance over her shoulder tells her they’ve come to a stalemate, both of them red faced at opposite ends of the couch but still smiling. How it is that two people so clearly made for each other are blind to see it?

She wonders if she’ll ever find someone like that. Someone who just _gets_ her. Obviously she’s in no rush at the age of 25 but if fate were to drop the lucky man or woman into her lap, well...she wouldn’t exactly complain.

“Yo, Griffin,” Raven shouts. “Beer me.”

Clarke scowls. “Where I come from we say please,” she deadpans. “What did your last slave die of?”

“They met a tragic end cause of all their back-sass,” Raven quips without missing a beat. “And don’t pretend like we’re not both from Humboldt you jer-”

Raven’s cut off by the sound of the intercom buzzing.

“Not it!” Octavia and Raven both yell in synch.

Clarke crosses her arms across her chest. “No way am I going. I went to get it last time. One of you can get up off your lazy asses and-”

She’s drowned out by a repetitive chant of “Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!” from the pair of them. Arguing at this point would be fighting a losing battle. Like trying to squeeze toothpaste back into the tube. Besides, she’s pretty hungry too.

With a sigh she picks up her keys and heads for the front door to meet the delivery guy.

“Remind me why I’m friends with you guys,” she mutters with a parting scowl.

 

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// 

 

“So Clarke, hws it guuurg with cofander hopsfff?” Raven asks through a mouthful of pizza.

Clarke wrinkles her nose in disgust. “You wanna maybe try that again without being gross. Honestly Rae, chew and swallow. It isn’t difficult, babies can do it.”

“Sorry your highness,” Raven grovels mockingly. “What I said was: how’s it going with Commander Hotstuff?”

Clarke feels her cheeks growing hot. “Who?”

She’s stalling. She knows that Raven’s referring to Lexa. By now everyone in their office has heard about the brunette’s infamous nickname though no one seems to know how she came to bare it. If she had to take a guess she’d say it was down to Lexa’s effortlessly authoritative manner. In every interaction she’s had with the brunette she’s been utterly enthralled, even despite her anger. Though maybe that’s just because of those captivating green eyes tha-

“She’s obviously talking about Lexa. Don’t be coy,” Octavia intones. Clarke frowns at them both.  “Anyway its a perfectly fitting nickname. Lexa’s super hot. I’d totally date her...you know, if she wasn’t my boss and I wasn’t a little bit afraid of her.”

Clarke keeps her expression neutral but she’s secretly inclined to agree. Well, not _date_ because that never seems to go well for her. But if the circumstances were different, if she’d seen Lexa across the bar on a Saturday night, she’d definitely try to score her number. That’s speaking objectively of course because Lexa is _Lexa_. She’s so totally off limits that it doesn’t bare thinking about.

“Yeah I spose she is a little intimidating but- wait hold up... _you’d_ date her?” Raven accuses disbelievingly. “Since when do _you_ want to date girls?”

Octavia shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t know. Maybe just recently. Maybe since always. Does it matter?”

Raven looks like she’s seen the face of God.

Clarke herself doesn’t bat an eyelid. How can she when she’s seen the way Octavia looks at Raven when the Latina isn’t watching?

It’s completely typical of O not to make a grand announcement about her sexuality and just casually slip it into conversation as though it’s irrelevant. That’s the way every ‘coming out’ should be in an ideal world. Because it _is_ irrelevant. People like who they like and no one should ever have to apologise for or feel bad about that.

She makes a mental note to talk to both of them about the ‘crush which must not be named.’ They’ve put this off for long enough and if she has to turn matchmaker to get them to see the light then so be it.

“Of course it doesn’t matter,” Raven grins, snapping out of her daze. “Just maybe don’t go shouting it around the company because I’m pretty sure they’ve reached their gay quota. It’s like how you can’t have a TV show with more than one LGBT couple. They might have to fire one of us to even out the homo/hetero ratio,” she teases.

Clarke furrows her brow. “There aren’t that many of us.”

“Sure there are. You got me, you, O, Monty, Miller in accounts,” Raven says, counting with her fingers as she reels off names. “Anya for sure, that one lunch lady who always gives me extra fries, Commander Hotstuff. The list goes on.”

It’s the last one that really gets her attention. Lexa? Gay?

She’s not too proud to admit that the possibility has crossed her mind once or twice. She’s also not too proud to admit (at least to herself) that she’s checked Lexa out once or twice. She’s only human after all. But she’s never actually gotten any specifically gay vibes from her boss.

Lexa is difficult to read to say the least. It’s hard to imagine her snuggled up at home on the couch with a partner regardless of gender. If it hadn’t been for their interactions over the past week she might have assumed that the brunette was adverse to emotion, period. Now that they’ve had a couple of conversations she’s beginning to think she was wrong. There’s definitely more to Lexa Woods than meets the eye.

“You don’t know that Lexa’s gay,” Clarke counters with a frown. “Stop assuming people's sexuality. And stop using that stupid nickname.”

“Ok, one, we’ve been over this. The nickname is justified,” Raven dismisses. “And two, yes she is. I mean, have you no gaydar, Griffin? The woman’s practically a walking talking rainbow...you know, if rainbows could be brooding and mysterious. Frankly I’d be less surprised if Kristen Stewart came out.”

“Kristen Stewart _did_ come out,” Octavia intones helpfully.

“See!” Raven cries.

Clarke narrows her eyes at both of them. “That doesn’t prove anything. And my gaydar, if we’re pretending there _is_ such a thing, works perfectly thank you.”

“Fine,” Raven holds her hands up. “That may not prove anything but I _do_ have proof.”

Clarke isn’t sure if she likes the smirk on Raven’s face as the brunette wipes her greasy pizza hands on her sweatpants and picks up the laptop. For a few seconds she wonders where Raven is going with this and then it clicks. She’d asked her to dig for dirt on Lexa and Raven’s about to deliver.

With everything that’s been going on she’d forgotten to tell her best friend to abandon her ‘research.’ She realises now that it’s a gross invasion of privacy but it looks like it could be too late for laments and a guilty conscience.

“Stop!” Clarke almost shouts, grabbing Raven’s arm. “I don’t want to know. I should never have asked you to do this in the first place so whatever it is you found I don’t care. Just please stop with the background checks.”

Raven stares at her blankly for a beat before her face cracks into a wide grin.

“Bravo, Griffin,” Raven drawls. “I was beginning to wonder when you’d come to your senses and snap out of it.”

Clarke frowns. “What?”

“I never actually did any ‘digging’ on Lexa,” Raven explains. “That would have been crossing a line. Though I did find something mildly interesting last week when I was reading her Forbes interview. Turns out there was a link at the bottom of the article about the Innovators in Business awards last summer.”

Clarke visibly relaxes. It’s a huge relief that Raven never took that request seriously. She’s having a hard enough time forgiving herself for making it in the first place.

“Wait you asked Raven to spy on Lexa?” Octavia cuts in. “What the hell, Clarke? What were you-”

“Hold up, O,” Raven contests gently. “Clarke knows she was being an asshole. If we lecture on her every poorly thought out decision she’s made then we’ll be here all night.”

Clarke throws Raven a look that simultaneously says ‘thank you’ and ‘fuck you.’ On this occasion she’ll willingly hold her hands up and admit she was wrong. Everyone has their flaws and she’s choosing to be upfront about hers. 

“Anyway, back to the point. Here’s your indisputable lesbian evidence,” Raven announces triumphantly.

Raven turns the laptop around and both Clarke and Octavia lean in to get a better look. Halfway through the article there’s a photo of Lexa captioned ‘Lexa Woods: Business Strategist of the Year.’ It looks to be a pretty standard event photo. Lexa’s sat amongst a row of people all wearing formal attire and smiling for the camera. She looks striking, Clarke notes, in a black suit with an emerald green skinny tie that matches her eyes almost perfectly.

“What am I supposed to be looking at here?” Clarke frowns skeptically. “The facts she’s wearing a suit...so what?”

“Yeah it’s 2017,” Octavia adds. “A woman wearing a suit isn’t a gay identifier, Rae.”

Raven sighs exasperatedly. “No, you idiots. Her hand. Look at her hand!”

Clarke casts a weary glance in Raven’s direction before she looks back to the photo. Upon closer inspection it’s clear to see that Lexa’s fingers are entwined with those of the woman sat beside her, their clasped hands resting on Lexa’s thigh.

Clarke hadn’t given the woman a second glance before, but now she notices her. She’s almost as beautiful as Lexa is with silky ebony hair, high cheekbones and flawless dark skin. The woman, who isn’t named in the caption, leans slightly into Lexa so their shoulders just about touch. There’s no denying the connection between them – they’re obviously something more than colleagues or friends.

She finds herself stunned into silence and not just because Raven is likely right about her theory. She feels a pang of excitement in her chest as her mind races to process this new information into something comprehensible.

Lexa’s into women. _She_ is a woman. Lexa could be into her.

She doesn’t know why that’s the first thought that crops into her mind. It’s not that she’s _likes_ Lexa that way or anything. That would be crazy and also _crazy inappropriate_. Lexa’s just hot...like Raven and Octavia said. Nothing more, nothing less.

Even in her own head it doesn’t sound like a very convincing argument. Ok, so maybe, just possibly , perhaps, perchance...she has a little bit of a crush. Not that it particularly matters anyway. Lexa could be in a relationship with the woman in the photo for all she knows. She’s still very much off limits.

“Permission to say ‘I told you so’ now?” Raven grins.

Clarke doesn’t give her the satisfaction, instead picking up another slice of double pepperoni and taking a huge bite. She narrows her eyes at Raven as she chews, willing the smug smirk to disappear from her face.

“Never mind, your silence is like music to my ears griffin,” Raven drawls, taking a swig of beer. “So tell me, does this make you want to sleep with Lexa more or less?”

Clarke chokes on her pizza. “What?!”

“You’re right, what am I saying?” Raven muses, slapping her palm against her forehead. “It’s more. _Obviously_ it’s more.”

Clarke’s initial shock is quickly replaced by anger. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“She’s talking about your big lesbian crush on Lexa,” Octavia supplies. “You’re kind of obvious. Like _really_ obvious.”

Clarke glares at her too. “How do you work that one out?” she snaps. “Up until the start of the week I pretty much hated her. I’m still not exactly her biggest fan now. She’s just...tolerable.”

That’s not exactly true. If she’s being honest, she finds Lexa much more than tolerable now they’ve actually talked to each other instead of yelling. Today had been...nice. Ok, so maybe Lexa complimenting her appearance had been a slip of the tongue but it was still pretty uplifting. So was learning that Lexa trusts her with the huge responsibility of designing the logo.

What she’d enjoyed most about their interaction was the way a light blush crept across Lexa’s cheekbones when she dropped the papers on the floor. It was the first mistake she’d seen Lexa make and it had been kind of endearing almost like she-

Shit. Maybe her crush could be categorised as more than ‘little.’

“Nah,” Raven dismisses. “This is a classic enemies to lovers situation. Octavia, if you please.”

Octavia flashes Raven the widest of grins and straightens up in her seat before turning to face Clarke. Oh great, they’ve clearly been plotting this moment, she thinks sourly. She never stood a chance.

“Ok, so remember at summer camp when you instantly hated Tommy Jenkins and you couldn’t work out why?” Octavia begins.

“It was because he put those frogs in our bunk beds,” Clarke snaps irritably.

“No, before that,” Octavia insists. “You hated him from the moment you saw him and it just escalated from there. He’d prank you and then you’d prank him back one better. Honestly, I’ve never seen such vicious rivalry between two kids and I grew up with Bellamy! But then this was nothing like a sibling rivalry, was it?”

“ _Really_ , O?” Raven feigns curiosity. “What happened next? I’m just _dying_ to know.”

Clarke thinks the only thing Raven is missing is a literal box of popcorn to watch this show unfold. She grits her teeth and says nothing. There’s no stopping the pair of them when they’re like this.

“Would you believe it was actually a huge crush in disguise? Our little Clarkey ended up dating him,” Octavia smirks. “One of the counsellors caught them kissing behind the shower block. It was gross.”

“I was 12!” Clarke protests hotly. “And we ‘dated’ for like two week until camp finished.”

“But you see the parallels,” Octavia counters. “This is just history repeating itself. It’s the same story with a different setting. You ‘hated’ Tommy Jenkins just like you ‘hate’ Lexa. Go on, tell me I’m wrong.”

Clarke’s completely dumbfounded for a second because how is it that when she comes to a realisation of her own, these two idiots are already one step ahead? Is she really that transparent or do they just know her insanely well? Either way, she’s not giving in without a fight and denial is not just a river in Egypt.

“You two are ridiculous! Are your arms tired from all that reaching?”

“Griffin, Griffin, Griffin,” Raven drawls. “You can protest all you want but we know the truth.”

“Yeah, it is what it is,” Octavia shrugs. “And what it is, is gay.”

“I don’t like her!” Clarke exclaims, exasperation marring her features.

“Yeah you do,” Raven smirks. “That’s why she gets under your skin. We all know how this is going to end. It’s only a matter of time before you get caught making out with Woods in the copier room.”

All sorts of inappropriate images flood Clarke’s mind at that precise moment. She wills them away and throws Raven a glare so dark the brunette actually flinches.

“Hey don’t blame me for your inappropriate work crush. It’s not my fault you’ve got wood for Woods,” Raven cackles. “Besides there are worse people to lust after. Lexa’s hot.”

“She can be as hot as she likes, you’re still wrong about this,” Clarke snaps.

“So you _do_ think she’s hot then?” Octavia teases. Clarke ignores her.

“No but get this, Clarke, she’s funny too,” Raven continues. “When she came to me about her car she said-”

“Her car?” Clarke asks, narrowing her eyes. “Why would she see you about her car?”

Raven presses her lips together and looks anywhere but at Clarke. It’s too late though. The cat is out of the bag.

“Raven Reyes, you explain yourself right now.”

She’s using _that_ voice. The same kind a Mom uses when she know her kid has been a little shit.

“Promise me you won’t get mad?” Raven says sheepishly. Clarke stares blankly. “Ok so it turns out that her indicator light _was_ broken. I noticed it on the way home from the office one night and said I’d fix it. I didn’t tell you because you were already mad at her and I didn’t want you to make it worse for yourself by going off about it which you totally would have because I know you and I know what you’re like,” she rambles.

You could hear a pin drop in the silence between the three of them. Raven looks to Octavia, Octavia looks to Clarke and Clarke’s eyes dart back and forth between them both. It’s a Mexican standoff. Surprisingly, Raven breaks first.

“Youpromisedyouwouldntgetmad.”

More uncomfortable silence.

Clarke tries to maintain her glare. She really tries. But she can’t help it. The corners of her mouth twitch and before she knows it, she’s laughing. It’s not the gracious, cute, refined kind of laughter either. It’s that belly shaking, throw your head back, full on cackle.

She laughs because what else can she do. It’s fucking absurd. Absurd that this whole situation with Lexa had started over a busted indicator. Absurd that she had been _right_. There are tears, actual tears, streaming down her cheeks

For their part, Octavia and Raven are regarding her as though she’s gone full-on bananas.

“Clarke, are you ok?” Octavia asks warily.

She answers with another burst of laugher before tapering off into a contented sigh.

“I’m fine. Great really,” Clarke says with a smile. “This is hilarious.”

“It is?” Raven frowns.

Clarke bites her lip in contemplation and nods. “Yeah. I mean a week ago I would have been pissed but now...this just seems funny. She must have felt like a total asshole when she realised.”

“I’m pretty sure she did,” Raven admits. A beat passes. “So you’re not gonna rub it in her face? No retaliation?”

“No,” Clarke shakes her head. “It’s in the past. It’d be pointless to drag all that up again. Besides, we’re actually getting along now.”

Both of her best friends look completely stunned.

“That...is a very mature response,” Octavia says slowly. “I’m proud of you, Clarke.”

“Way to go, Griffin,” Raven grins. “Plus you don’t want to go upsetting the object of your affections.”

“Don’t push your luck, Reyes,” Clarke warns lightly, getting up from the couch. “It’s getting late so I’m gonna go stick an episode of Buffy on and go to bed. I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Try to stay out of trouble until then.”

“We promise nothing,” Raven calls after her.

When she’s back in her room with the door closed she doesn’t go straight to Netflix. Instead she finds herself staring at the open tab. More specifically she finds herself staring at Lexa’s photo.

It’s near impossible to not to admire the sharp slant of a perfectly chiselled jaw line and defined collar bones. Lexa’s beautiful, she knows this. But she’s never seen her quite like this before. Lexa looks...relaxed, happy, completely carefree – a far call from the usual stoic expression she wears at the office. It suits her.

She wonders if Lexa and the unnamed woman are still together. Thinking about it leaves a sour taste in her mouth. When her gaze drifts from green eyes to soft lips curved into a truly breathtaking smile she closes the tab, squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head.

She will not do this to herself.  A crush is one thing but sitting on your bed having inappropriate thoughts about your bosses lips, what you would like to do to them and other less PG parts of their anatomy is completely another.

Her mind is too active for sleep so she pulls her sketchbook out from under her bed and turns to a fresh page. She doesn’t have an end goal in mind, just content to let her fingers wrap around a soft charcoal pencil what they do best. It’s been a long time since she felt like this. Hell it’s been a long time since she’s even felt like picking up a pencil but now she’s almost trance-like as it glides effortlessly across the page.

When she pulls back to admire her work half an hour later she realises just how screwed she is because the random face she’s been absentmindedly sketching isn’t random at all. There’s no colour to the pair of eyes she’s drawn. Yet when they stare back up at her silently, wide and unblinking, she _knows_ they’re green. She knows the exact shade.

Fuck.

 

 

 

 

Lexa POV

 

Lexa Woods is a solid gold idiot. This is what she tells herself as she sits in her office late on Friday morning.

She’s not in her usual place behind her desk. Instead she sits on the plush leather couch in the corner of the room, laptop perched on the coffee table. She sighs audibly as she stares at the empty space beside her, which up until about a minute ago had been occupied by Clarke.

Their truce lasted a grand total of four days.

Part of her isn’t surprised. She’s said it before and she’ll say it again: they were destined to clash. Something about Clarke just feels inevitable. Rather, something about _arguing_ with Clarke feels inevitable. It’s been a battle of strong wills and uncompromising convictions from the get go. She just thought when they came to blows again it would be as intense and charged as before.

She had been wrong.

This time it had been different between them. There was no explosive argument, no raised voices or storming out of offices. No grand culmination of anger. No crescendo of rage.

This time all it took was a few simple words to ruin their fragile...friendship? Not friendship...that isn’t the right word. Whatever it is, she’s pretty sure it’s over now.

This time it’s _her_ fault. If she had just kept her opinions to herself then Clarke would still be sat here and they’d still be discussing the best direction to take with the new logo.

It had all happened so quickly. She remembers vividly the excitement on Clarke’s face when she’d entered and how quickly it was replaced by a hollow look of rejection just before she’d left.

 

*That morning, 11am*

**When there’s a knock on her door Lexa has a strong sense of who it is before they enter. She tells herself that’s down to intuition and not some misplaced feeling of hope that it might be a certain blonde haired, blue eyed woman. She calls for whoever it is to come in and when the door doesn’t open a few seconds later she frowns and strides over to it, wondering how they couldn’t have heard her.**

**It’s Clarke. Clarke, who very nearly tumbles through the doorway when it opens abruptly.**

**Today she looks even better than yesterday, wearing a floral patterned sundress with her hair artfully styled into a halo braid. She looks as though she’s just strolled out of one of Vogue’s Coachella themed fashion shoots, Lexa notes.**

**Then she scolds herself for noticing. She’s already been though this. She _does not_ have a crush on Clarke Griffin. It’s not allowed and it’s _definitely_ not happening. **

**Her eyes travel across Clarke’s face, careful not to linger too long. There’s a memory stick wedged between her teeth though she still somehow manages to smile around it. Its neigh on impossible for Lexa not to send her a small smile back - so she does. Then she looks down to Clarke’s hands which are wrapped around two steaming take-out cups of coffee. She wonders how the blonde managed to knock on the door in the first place.**

**As though on autopilot, she wordlessly steps to the side to allow Clarke to enter, closing the door behind them. When she turns around Clarke is extending one of the cups to her, still wearing that same warm smile.**

**“This is for you.”**

**She tries to ignore the faint flutter in her chest when she sees her name scrawled on the side of the cup. What she can’t ignore is the way her heart skips a beat when her fingers accidentally brush against Clarke’s as she takes the coffee. She very nearly drops the damn thing in her haste to pull away. Luckily Clarke doesn’t seem to notice, perhaps mistaking it for a static shock.**

**But Lexa knows the truth. It’s not quite same sensation she’d felt when they shook hands but it is similar. It’s another of her body’s not so subtle ways of letting her know she finds the woman before her incredibly attractive. It’s a fact that’s becoming harder and harder to deny.**

**“You know you don’t have to keep buying me coffee,” Lexa says, frowning a little**

**God that sounds ungrateful.**

**“Technically I don’t _keep_ buying it for you,” Clarke counters with a smirk. “You couldn’t drink the first one so I ended up having two. _Technically_ , this is the first one I’ve bought for you.”**

**Lexa wants to smile but she doesn’t. Instead she keeps her expression impassive and cool, a picture of neutrality.**

**“Thank you,” Lexa offers, her tone stiff. “But make this the first and last time. I can’t have people thinking I’m playing favourites with my employees.”**

**Clarke’s smirk grows into a grin. “You mean I’m _not_ your favourite yet?” she teases. “Damn, I thought for sure a doubleshot soy latte would land me straight in your good books.”**

**Lexa feels the corners of her mouth twitching with the urge to smile before she mentally slams on the breaks.**

**What is going on? This is too familiar. Clarke is being too informal, too friendly, too...flirty? Whatever this is she needs to put an end to it. There are boundaries between her personal and professional life that need to be adhered to. They’re in place for a reason.**

**“Is there something I can help you with, Clarke?” Lexa asks. It’s almost challenging. “Only this meeting isn’t in my schedule. Your colleagues seem able to grasp the concept of booking an appointment via email yet you turn up unannounced. Again. My time is not a commodity to be squandered.”**

**Clarke flinches at her change in tone and the smile drops from her face immediately. It’s cold. Its bordering on rude. But it _is_ necessary. They’re not friends. They’re acquaintances in a strictly professional capacity. She needs to ensure Clarke understands that even if she does feel terrible for doing it. **

**“Oh. Sorry I didn’t realise you were in the middle of something,” Clarke apologises, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. “I guess I was just excited to show you my designs and...no, you know what, it was wrong of me. I’ll make an appointment and come back another time. Sorry again.”**

**Where she should feel relief at drawing a line, Lexa instead experiences an instant pang of regret when Clarke heads for the door. The intention was not to upset her but rather establish their positions without sounding cruel. She realises she doesn’t know how to do that with Clarke. Her head is all over the place.**

**“Wait!” Lexa nearly shouts.**

**Clarke turns back, expression caught between hurt and confused.**

**“Wait,” Lexa pauses, struggling with her words. “You’re here now. It would be foolish to waste both of our time by rearranging. You can show me the designs so long as we make it quick. Just make an appointment in future, ok?” she tacks on.**

**“Ok,” Clarke nods but doesn’t quite smile. “Can we use your laptop? The designs are on my memory stick,” she says, holding it up between her fingers.**

**Lexa nods and gestures for Clarke to take a seat on the couch. A few moments later she’s setting the laptop on the coffee table and joining her, ensuring she leaves a considerable amount of space between them on the leather covered cushions.**

**“I’m impressed you’ve managed to come up with something substantial in such a short amount of time,” Lexa muses as the laptop powers up. “Considering you’ve only had access to the brief since Monday. I wasn’t expecting anything from you for at least another week.”**

**Clarke shrugs. “When I start a new project I tend to get _way_ too into it. Especially if it’s something I’m passionate about. It feels kind of...I don’t know the right word,” she pauses thoughtfully. “Its consuming, almost. Like I don’t feel satisfied until I’ve produced something tangible after I’ve envisioned it in my head.”**

**Lexa listens intently as Clarke elaborates on her creative process. She finds herself softening slowly at the way the blonde gesticulates frantically when she can’t seem to find the right word to explain her meaning. It’s very, very cute.**

**“I can be doing the most simple thing like washing the dishes or taking a shower and bam...an idea will just hit me out of nowhere. I have to stop what I’m doing right there and then to write it down in case I forget or...sorry this is stupid isn’t it? You must think I’m really weird.”**

**Lexa shakes her head. “It’s not stupid,” she says solemnly. “It’s the mark of a great creative mind. Its shows you have a real love for your work and that’s not something many people can attest to. You should be proud of that.”**

**Clarke smiles shyly. “You think maybe Picasso got a bout of inspiration when he was washing dishes?”**

**“Maybe it was more of a shower thought,” Lexa quips.**

**Clarke laughs throatily and Lexa thinks that’s probably her new favourite sound. She finds herself smiling without meaning to. A second later their eyes meet and she feels as though the air has been inexplicably sucked out of the room.**

**Because Clarke is beautiful.**

**She truly sees that now. From the rosy blush on her cheeks, to the gentle slope of her nose and mirth sparkling in azure eyes, she is breathtaking. And Lexa knows, know it the second her own eyes dart down to Clarke’s slightly parted lips that she’s done for. She’s screwed. Game over. Crush 100% confirmed.**

**“So talk me through what you’ve been doing,” Lexa asks, plugging in the memory stick to distract herself from her rapidly beating heart. “What was your starting point?”**

**“Well I haven’t had much to go on besides Polaris’s slogan,” Clarke frowns. “And ‘Infinite Luxury’ is a little difficult to encompass.”**

**“It’s a terrible slogan,” Lexa intones.**

**“I know. They wouldn’t consider changing it?”**

**“No. I did suggest it but it’s been their tagline for years. No budging apparently, Director’s orders.”**

**“That’s a shame. I was wondering how I’d work that into the logo without it being clunky.”**

**“Well as long as you haven’t conjured up something contrived and brutally unsubtle like an infinity symbol, I’m sure it’ll be a good start,” Lexa jests, half-chuckling.**

**Clarke freezes.**

**Oh no.**

**Lexa glances at Clarke. The blonde looks as though she’s been deal a physical blow. It makes Lexa’s own stomach sink as she looks back to the laptop screen. Sure enough, plain as day, are a number of logo designs all bearing variations of an infinity symbol.**

**Fuck.**

**She could try to apologise. She could attempt to backtrack and tell Clarke that some of them actually look quite good (they do) but it’s clear the damage has been done. Clarke’s expression is blank, her lips pressed into a thin line as she stares unblinkingly straight ahead. She must be able to sense Lexa’s eyes on her but she doesn’t acknowledge it.**

**This is incredibly awkward. Lexa doesn’t know how to come back from this. They both sit in an uncomfortable silence until she simply can’t stand the tense atmosphere any longer.**

**“Clarke...I didn’t me-”**

**“I have to go,” Clarke says, standing abruptly. “You can keep the memory stick. I’ll start working on new designs next week. Have a good weekend, Lexa.”**

**“Clarke,” Lexa tries again. It verges on pleading.**

**She doesn’t know what she’ll say if Clarke turns back. She doesn’t have any idea of what to say to fix this. Luckily Clarke doesn’t stick around to hear her awkward excuses and is out of the door before Lexa can think to stop her.**

**The silence she leaves in her wake is deafening.**

 

Which brings her back full circle to the present. Now it’s just her, Clarke’s abandoned designs and the dreadful weight of regret.

It’s probably one of the worst things she could have done – insulting an artist’s work. She should have at least waited until she’d seen the logos before making a facetious comment. It’s not exactly something she could have foreseen but it still doesn’t make her feel better. The fact that the designs actually look relatively sleek despite being rough drafts only adds insult to injury.

Lexa Woods: A solid gold idiot indeed.

 

 ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

“Ok, enough. Who is it?”

“What?”

Lexa looks up from a disappointing Caesar salad to see Anya frowning at her across the table. She hadn’t actually been talking so God knows what Anya has decided to pick fault with this time. 

“That look on your face,” Anya says, inclining her head. “You’ve been moping every since we sat down.”

“I’m not moping.”

She is.

“You are. You only ever get that misty-eyed, faraway look when there’s a girl involved. It’s a very specific look, hard to describe really...sort of like you’re confused by the very notion that you have feelings,” Anya muses. “So who is it?”

Lexa sighs and sets her fork down. “There’s no girl. And stop trying to play psychoanalyst. It doesn’t suit you.”

She hopes the slight edge to her tone will be enough to stop Anya’s prying. It isn’t.

“Bullshit there’s no girl,” Anya counters. “I’ve seen you wear that look exactly three times. The first was when the waitress at Shaw’s Diner left you her number on the bill. You agonised about calling her for a week straight. The second was when you met Costia at the staff Christmas Party. What a disastrous gay mess that was,” she tacks on, pausing to smirk.

Lexa glares because she remembers it well.

 Costia had been new at the company and their paths had yet to cross. As soon as Lexa had laid eyes on her she’d been determined to strike up a conversation, knocking back Scotch to work up the nerve. After a vest amount of liquid courage she managed to get out a mumbled ‘hello’ before tripping over her own feet and literally falling at Costia’s.

Fortunately Costia found her nervousness endearing but Anya had witnessed the whole thing, laughing like a drain from the sidelines. It was something she brought up at every available opportunity for the duration of their relationship, revelling in the embarrassment it caused Lexa.

That kind of clumsiness is so far removed from the professional image she projects onto the world. Is she intelligent? Yes. Is she one of the best business strategists in the country? Yes. Can she handle talking to an attractive woman without making a total ass of herself? Hell fucking no. If her life was a book there would be a footnote stating ‘see any interaction with Clarke Griffin over the past week for reference.’

“And the third time I’ve seen it,” Anya drawls smugly, “is today. So spill it, Ellen. Who’s the target of your wanton affections this time? And don’t tell me you’ve been hitting those bars in West Hollywood without me because I will be _sorely_ disappointed.”

“You think I have time to go to bars?” Lexa counters, arching an eyebrow. “Anya, I work a 60 hour week. My weekends consist of sleeping and life admin. When do you think I have to opportunity to pick up women?”

Anya tuts in disapproval. “You’re avoiding the question”

Lexa throws her a look of pure exasperation. “It’s actually quite insulting that you think a girl could be the only reason for my poor mood. Sex isn’t the most important thing in my life.”

“I imagine it can’t be when you’re not having any.”

Lexa half wishes she had the ability to shoot laser beams from her eyes. Were that the case, Anya would be nothing more than a smoldering pile of ashes atop the plastic cafeteria chair she sits on.

“Yikes, just kidding,” Anya says, holding her hands up in surrender. “Sometimes it’s hard to resist messing with you when you make it so easy.”

Lexa keeps scowling.

“Seriously though, is something else bothering you?” Anya’s tone becomes sincere. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

Lexa feels her shoulders slump. There are actually a number of things bothering her. The Clarke fuck-up. The email she got just before lunch inviting her to Polaris’s annual business dinner in a couple of weeks. A business dinner where Azgeda will also be in attendance. The fact she still hasn’t organised her apartment after two weeks. Numerous deadlines. The fact she hasn’t gotten laid in almost 6 months. So many things.

“Just a few kinks with the branding team to iron out. Nothing I can’t handle,” Lexa assures.

“So long as you’re sure that’s all,” Anya says, glancing at her watch. “I’ve gotta get back to my office. I’m training Echo on the new filing system this afternoon because Jackson’s off sick. Why did I become director of the department if I can’t palm this stuff off on my underlings?”

“Sounds thrilling,” Lexa deadpans. “Don’t let me stop you.”

She turns back to her salad, absently pushing the lettuce leaves around her plate with the fork. Her mind is still fixated on this morning’s encounter with Clarke. It shouldn’t bother her this much. She shouldn’t let one employee consume so much of her time and attention. That doesn’t seem like an option when Clarke is the employee is question. The blonde has well and truly taken up residence in her thoughts as crushes so often do. 

A second later she’s flinching at Anya’s voice in her ear. “And just so you know, Lexa, I’ll figure out who your little crush is. Might not be today, might not be tomorrow, but I _will_ find out. You should know by now that nothing gets past me.”

Lexa prays to whatever deity above that this is the exception.

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

At half past four she finally catches a break. That’s because at half past four Raven pings her an email saying she’s fixed the indicator on her car and it’s good to go. Rather than emailing back she decides to pay a trip to the IT department to thank Raven personally.

The workspace is empty as she makes her way to the stairwell, her team having left at 4pm as they do on Fridays. She’s quite grateful for that on today of all days. More potentially awkward interactions with Clarke can be avoided this way.

Perhaps the most unexpected development during her time at the LA office all is her burgeoning friendship with Raven Reyes. Well, Lexa doesn’t know if she should call it a _friendship_ as such but it’s certainly...something. It’s strange for her to want to connect with colleagues on anything more than a professional level but Raven has this effortless likeability which makes her an exception.

She supposes Clarke is also an exception but admittedly that’s for drastically different reasons – emotions and desires that Lexa will _not_ allow herself to indulge in. Perhaps she’s better off keeping her interactions with Clarke to the bare minimum. She’d tried a colder, less personal approach earlier on today and look where that had landed her.

There’s no music blaring from the IT department this time when she walks down the corridor. In fact, when she enters the office its eerily quiet save for the gentle tapping of fingers on a keyboard. She weaves her way through the room, sidestepping partly dismantled copiers and other indiscernible bits of machinery.

“Did you go to Midtown for my coffee or something?” Raven’s voice calls from behind the desk divider. “Because you’ve been gone fucking forever and my caffeine levels are dangerously low.”

Lexa smirks because Raven’s clearly mistaken her for someone else. Perhaps Monty or Sinclair. Raven had done the same thing when she’d visited the first time.

“I didn’t realise providing a ‘refreshment service’ fell within my purview of responsibilities as Branding Manager,” Lexa drawls.

Raven’s head pops up over the divider like she’s emerging from a parapet. “My bad, thought you were someone else,” she says, throwing in an apologetic smile for good measure. “Though for future reference, turning up with a heavily caffeinated beverage will automatically increase the quality of conversation by an average of 14.5%.”

“That’s a very specific number,” Lexa muses. She pulls out Monty’s empty chair and takes a seat. “And I recommend not drinking caffeine after 2pm. Studies show it can seriously diminish your quality of sleep.”

“Thanks for the advice, Huffington Post,” Raven quips. “But I’ll need it if I’m gonna get this system update finished today. I’ll be lucky to leave this place before 8.”

Lexa gapes because that’s late even by her standards.

“Don’t look so concerned,” Raven dismisses. “I’m a sucker for that overtime pay. For 25 bucks an hour I’d stay here till midnight if I could. Cash rules everything around me, right?”

“Wu Tang Clan?”

“I don’t believe it!” Raven gasps in awe. “I thought that reference would go straight over your sophisticated White-Collar head. Maybe you’re not the corporate suit everyone says you are.”

Lexa smiles at Raven’s teasing and shakes her head. “I spent six years in New York and worked with Anya for five of those,” she shrugs. “She’s a huge Hip-Hop fan.”

“No fucking way?”

“Yes way. Though this is strictly confidential information. Our lives won’t be worth living if she finds out I’ve been telling people she has interests like a regular human being.”

“Still not convinced she isn’t just a super hot cyborg,” Raven mutters.

Lexa smirks at that because she’s sure that’s exactly the kind of impression Anya intends to channel. If they’d seen the blonde after 4 glasses of chardonnay, belting out Gaga on karaoke like Lexa has, they wouldn’t be half as fearful.

“Anyway I’ll leave you to your work,” Lexa says. “I just wanted to swing by and say thank you for fixing my car, I-”

“I got your damn coffee, Reyes. You’d better appreciate it because the line at Grounders was like a mile long.”

Lexa freezes at the sound of that voice. She knows its Clarke, even without turning. She could probably pick that voice out of thousands. There’s a certain appealing, almost raspy quality to it that’s unique and most definitely easy on the ears. Truth be told she could wax-lyrical about Clarke’s voice all day but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s probably the last person Clarke wants to see right now.

This is about to get awkward.

“Did you get my five sugars?” Raven asks.

Lexa turns slowly in her chair. Clarke hasn’t noticed her yet and is looking down into her purse, presumably for the sugar sachets.

“I did,” Clarke says distractedly. “Though why don’t you just cut out the middle man and eat the damn sugar? Honestly it’s so gross that yo-”

Blue eyes widen when they finally notice her.

Clarke stares at Lexa.

Lexa stares at Clarke.

Clarke looks away.

No one says anything. She was right. It did get awkward.

“Holy unspoken tension, Batman,” Raven jokes. “Did something happen between the two of you?”

Lexa assumes that was done to cut through the discomfort in the room. It’s only been made worse.

“Sorry I didn’t realise you had company,” Clarke says, addressing only Raven. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Lexa wishes there wasn’t a pang in her chest when Clarke refuses to look at her.

“Don’t leave on my account,” Lexa says. She gets to her feet and turns to face Raven. “I need to go back to 5 anyway and get my things. Have a good weekend, Raven. Clarke,” she nods stiffly.

“Actually you can both get out,” Raven announces. “Can’t have you in here distracting me from my work, Griffin. I’m a busy woman.”

Lexa sees the look of panic on Clarke’s face. If they both leave now they’ll have to walk back to the stairwell together in what will probably be a tense and awkward silence. It’s safe to say that’s something neither of them want.

“But I-I,” Clarke splutters. "I don't want-"

Her protests fall on deaf ears because Raven is ushering them towards the door. With a final smirk she says goodbye to them both, closing the office door behind them with a click that echoes around the corridor.

There’s nothing else to do besides begin the short but immensely uncomfortable walk down the hall. Lexa gestures for Clarke to go first. If they walk side my side they’ll be brushing shoulders and that is something Lexa simply cannot handle.

When they reach the end of the hall Clarke pushes the button for the elevator and the doors open almost immediately. She steps inside and then turns around, eyebrows rising slightly when she sees Lexa is still stood rooted to the spot.

“Are you getting in or?” Clarke asks.

Lexa hesitates. She had intended to take the stairs like she always does. The elevator makes her incredibly nervous. Being trapped in a confined space is terrifying. It’s a perfectly logical fear of what is essentially a metal box being held up by some wires. However if she doesn’t get in now it will look incredibly rude. It’s either face her fear or risk making the situation with Clarke even worse.

She takes a deep breath and steps in.

What was that about attractive women being her weakness again?

Clarke pushes the button for 5 and then steps back, folding her arms across her chest. Lexa stands as far away as she can, hands clasped behind her back. The elevator seems to be moving at a snail’s pace. If the atmosphere was any tenser in here they would physically choke on it. She can’t stand it any longer.

“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” Lexa asks.

Clarke casts her a sideways glance. “We don’t have to do this you know?”

Lexa’s brow creases in silent confusion.

“The small talk,” Clarke confirms. "We don't need to do the whole polite small talk thing."

“I thought we agreed to be civil,” Lexa says carefully. “Look Clarke, I didn’t mean-”

“We can be civil without talking.”

Ouch.

Lexa mashes her lips together and resigns herself to the possibility that they could be back to square one. Though perhaps the elevator isn’t the best place to try and explain herself anyway. She’s aware of just how incredibly anxious she is as her palms repeatedly clench into fists and a light sheen of sweat materialises on her forehead. She feels like the compartment is spinning and-

The elevator stops moving.

“What’s happening?” Lexa asks, ashamed of the quiver in her voice. “Why aren’t we moving?”

The lights flicker off momentarily before the emergency lighting kicks in, leaving the elevator darker than before. Even in the low light she can see the look of pure panic on Clarke’s face as the blonde taps on the control panel. None of the buttons respond. Nothing happens.

Clarke turns slowly to face her, looking just as worried as Lexa feels. “I think we’ve broken down.”

Lexa feels as though her stomach just dropped the four flights back to the basement. She’s stuck in an elevator. She’s stuck in an elevator with the woman she has a crush on. She’s stuck in an elevator with the woman she has a crush on who probably hates her.

This is so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers for reading - I hope you like where the story is going.  
> Next time: you can't hide from your feelings when they're stuck in the elevator with you  
> I'm also on the hellsite known as tumblr at toolateintheday


	9. Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mixed POV  
> It's the elevator chapter y'all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for your comments and kudos <3  
> So its another mixed POV chapter that's a cool 8k #sorrynotsorry  
> I hope you enjoy it - just a little warning that the first half of this is a little emotional.

Lexa POV

 

The seconds tick by at an agonizing pace as Clarke’s words sink in. They’re trapped. Suspended at least 100ft from the safety of the ground with nothing but a series of cables keeping the elevator secure. It’s enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“What do you mean we’ve broken down?” Lexa asks, failing to mask the panic in her voice.

In fairness she isn’t trying to hide it. She’s scared. This is a nightmare come to life.

“I don’t know, Lexa,” Clarke snaps, still punching buttons on the control panel. “We’ve stopped moving. I know as much about it as you do.”

Oh yeah, and Clarke’s still mad at her just to make the situation that little bit worse.

 Honestly what has she done to deserve this karmic slap in the face? She’s a good person. She files her taxes, she pays her bills on time, and she donates to charity on a regular basis. This is just unfair.

She squeezes her eyes closed and tries to focus on her breathing like Dr Cartwright told her to. Inhale, count to five, exhale and repeat. It’s meant to be calming but it doesn’t particularly help. Instead it just dredges up distant memories that she’d hidden deep within the recesses of her subconscious until now.

Vivid flashbacks of hours spent locked away alone in the dark flood her mind. She was just a child - a child who didn’t understand what she’d done wrong. It’s too much. She needs to get out of this elevator.

“We have to do something,” Lexa says more to herself than Clarke. “There _must_ be a way out.”

Either Clarke doesn’t register the desperation in her voice or she doesn’t care because she keeps her back to her. She wishes the animosity radiating from Clarke wasn’t quite so palpable because she’s having a hard enough time holding herself together as it is.

“I _am_ doing something,” Clarke counters hotly. “I’ve pressed the emergency call button. We just have to wait for someone to answer.”

Lexa exhales shakily and Clarke casts a quick glance over her shoulder, the hard line of her frown softening when she catches sight of Lexa’s face.

“Are you ok?” Clarke asks, taking a step forward. “You look kind of pale-”

“Hello? Did somebody call?”

Both of them jump at the voice emanating from the intercom. It’s Raven. No one else could sound so simultaneously intrigued and disinterested.

 It’s Clarke who springs into action, darting back over to the control panel. Lexa is silently grateful because she doesn’t think she could summon the motor skills required to move right now. She’s gone far past the point of scared.  

“Raven, it’s Clarke. I’m stuck in the elevator halfway between fourth and fifth.”

“Unlucky, Griffin. What happened?”

“No idea. The elevator just stopped moving. Can you get us going again?”

“Us? Is someone else in there with you?”

From where’s she standing Lexa can’t see Clarke’s face but she does notice the sag of her shoulders. It’s not very encouraging.

“Yes.”

“Who?”

A beat passes. “Does it matter?”

Ouch. That stings.

“I have to inform you Griffin, that in an emergency situation all Trikru staff must be accounted for. Its basic health and safety protocol. Now as the member of staff responding to this call, I’m gonna need you to take the stick out of your ass and tell me.”

Lexa can practically hear Raven’s smirk through the speaker. Whilst it’s true she doesn’t know much about the dynamics of Raven’s friendship with Clarke, it’s safe to assume there is a degree of gentle banter. It’s the way Raven seems to interact with everyone.

Clarke swears under her breath before she answers. “It’s Lexa.”

There’s a good few seconds of silence before Raven’s laugh echoes around the compartment, amplified by the metal walls.

Even in the dim light Lexa can see a furious blush creep up Clarke’s neck. She wonders what that could be about. Raven must have picked up on the strained atmosphere between them in the IT department (because they could not have been _more_ obvious) but that still doesn’t explain her hilarity at their predicament.

Raven’s laughter eventually tapers off. “Oh, _this_ is classic.”

 “Yeah it’s hilarious,” Clarke says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Stop dicking around get us some help would you. I don’t want to spend my Friday night trapped in here.”

Lexa’s inclined to agree. As fun as being stranded with an incredibly attractive woman sounds, there are two things inherently wrong with this scenario. The first is that she’s claustrophobic so the setting is far from ideal. The second is that Clarke is currently indifferent towards her at the very best. Also not ideal.

“Ok sorry,” Raven sobers up. “I’m gonna take a look at it myself and see if I can figure out what went wrong. It might just be a power failure seeing as the backup generator kicked in. I could try calling an engineer from the elevator company but this time on a Friday night...” she trails off.

That reawakens the dread in the pit of Lexa’s stomach. “How long?” she asks hoarsely.

Clarke throws her a look that could be considered sympathetic before she repeats the question to Raven over the intercom.

“Couple of hours, probably,” Raven answers. “I’ll do my best to get out guys out. Keep me posted if there’s any change, I have my walkie on me. Over and out.”

Clarke stares at the intercom for a second before she begins pacing up and down. “This is just fucking typical. I swear to God I am the unluckiest person in...”

Lexa finds she can’t concentrate on Clarke’s rant. Black spots are dancing across her vision as the gravity of their situation sets in. It’s a peculiar sensation to describe, having a panic attack. It kind of feels like a tidal wave is about to hit and you’re powerless to stop it. You’ve no choice but to watch in horror as it approaches and then eventually crashes over you.

“I can’t do this,” she mutters. “I can’t-”

She forgets the breathing exercises, she forgets the calming techniques. She forgets everything as she stumbles backwards until she hits the metal wall of the compartment. Her knees shake before they completely give out and she slides to the floor with a thud.

“Lexa?”

Clarke’s on her knees in front of her in a second, concern etched across her features.

“Lexa? Lexa can you hear me?”

Clarke sounds distorted as though she’s far away instead of inches from her. Lexa’s acutely aware of the incessant ringing in her ears and the churning sensation in her stomach but not much else. If the palpitations kick in then she truly is in trouble. She slams her eyes shut and wills it to stop.

“Lexa, look at me,” Clarke says, voice commanding and calm. “Listen to my voice, ok? I’m going to help you.”

The next thing she feels is a pair of hands cupping her face and thumbs running delicately over her cheeks, the motion soft yet determined. She manages to open her eyes and finds herself staring directly into blue orbs that somehow still seem to sparkle even in the limited lighting.

“Breathe, ok? I need you to breathe,” Clarke says firmly. “With me alright? In and out.”

Lexa summons everything she’s got and follows Clarke’s direction, inhaling and exhaling when she’s instructed. Amidst the confusion and disorientation she’s vaguely aware of just how calm Clarke is.  It’s totally unexpected and she can’t express just how grateful she is in this moment to have someone to talk her down from the edge.

Clarke throws her that warm smile she likes so much. “That’s it,” she coaxes. “You’re doing really well. Just keep breathing. In and out.”

Lexa closes her eyes again and is content to listen to Clarke’s words of encouragement spoken barely above a whisper. After what feels like a long time her breathing begins to settle down. Though the storm hasn’t passed yet as she’s still trembling uncontrollably.

She feels Clarke’s hands leave her face and instantly misses the contact, eyes flying open of their own accord to search it out. Clarke gives her another smile before she takes Lexa’s trembling hands in her own and entwines their fingers. Lexa looks down at their joined hands before meeting’s Clarke’s gaze once again. It’s probably a dangerous thing to do because the way Clarke’s looking at her with such gentle compassion almost steals the breath from her lungs.

“I want you to concentrate, ok?” Clarke says. She squeezes Lexa’s hand for emphasis. “Tell me your name.”

 “L-Lexa.”

Clarke shakes her head softly. “Your full name.”

“Alexandria Woods.”

“Good. How old are you?”

“I’m 28.”

She can see what Clarke’s doing now. It’s another calming technique, getting her to relay basic information so her brain is occupied. It’s working.

“Where do you live?”

“West Hollywood.”

“Very upmarket,” Clarke teases lightly. “And who am I?”

“You’re,” Lexa pauses. _Fucking amazing_. “Clarke. Clarke Griffin.”

“Ok, good,” Clarke nods. “See, you’re fine. You’re safe. I promise nothing bad is going to happen to us.”

Against all her doubts, Lexa believes her. She’s not sure if that’s because of just how confidently Clarke says those words or if it’s because the statement is rationally and statistically correct. Clarke could probably tell her the moon is made of cheese in that same self-assured tone and she’d willingly believe it.

However now that’s she’s calmed down, the overwhelming sense of shame starts to creep in. She can’t believe she lost her cool like that, in front of Clarke of all people.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa mutters. She stares straight ahead, not quite able to look Clarke in the eye as she apologises. “I haven’t had an episode like that in a long time. I shouldn’t hav-”

“Hey don’t apologise,” Clarke cuts her off. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. We’ve all got something that scares us. Trust me Lexa, it’s not a big deal. ”

She’s still got her eyes glued on the wall opposite when Clarke brushes a thumb across her knuckles. Lexa imagines it’s meant to be a soothing gesture but instead it awakens every synapse in her body with a jolt. She looks down at their still joined hands, silently admiring how well they seem to fit together. Clarke’s hand looks small in her own, pale in contrast to her tanned skin but completely at home.

She finds she doesn’t want to let go and it’s not just because she still feels a little on edge. Her hand closes that little bit more around Clarke’s purely on impulse, squeezing lightly.

For a terrifying second she thinks Clarke will retract her hand in disgust and deliver one of those cutting remarks as she’s so prone to doing. Instead Clarke squeezes back before moving to sit beside her on the floor, keeping their hands joined all the while.

 “How did you know what to do?” Lexa asks quietly.

Clarke shrugs beside her. “Because I know what it’s like.” A beat passes. “I had a couple of really severe panic attacks after my Dad died. My Mom’s a doctor so she was around to help me through them. I guess I just did what I learned from her. “

Lexa turns her head to look at Clarke, her heart sinking in her chest when she registers the pained expression on her face. She runs her thumb over the back of Clarke’s hand in much the same way the blonde had done earlier. When Clarke looks up her smile is strained.  

“I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

 Clarke shakes her head. “It was almost two years ago,” she sighs. “And I mean...I’ve come to terms with it but I still miss him every day, you know?”

Lexa nods slowly. They’re verging into deeply personal territory here.

 On the surface they might be little more than strangers to each other but as much as she might want to deny it, there’s an unspoken connection between them. They seem to have this invisible push and pull that’s constantly present whether they’re arguing or getting along. It’s something she’s never experienced with anyone else. It’s like Clarke knows exactly how to push her buttons and vice versa.

She can’t quite believe Clarke has opened up to her like this. Part of her feels like she should do some confessing of her own to restore the balance but it’s a troubling thought. Feelings, or rather _expressing_ her feelings, has never been her strong suit. But hell, if Clarke feels comfortable enough around her to reveal something so personal perhaps she should take the plunge too.

Fuck it.

“You know I haven’t had a panic attack like that in years,” Lexa admits. “Not since I was a child.”

Clarke leans back against the wall and turns to face her. “What triggered it? Are you claustrophobic or something?”

Lexa copies her movements, leaning back until her head rests against the cool metal. She casts her eyes up to the ceiling and releases a deep sigh, mentally psyching herself up. There’s only two other people in the world who know what she’s about to tell Clarke: Anya and Gustus. Not even Costia had been privy to this secret. When she says she doesn’t trust easily, she means it.

“I guess you could say that,” Lexa confirms. “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this elevator, ok?”

Clarke nods solemnly.

“My parents were very religious. And by that I mean they were...devout... the kind of people who went to church every day without fail,” Lexa begins. “The kind that staged protests outside Planned Parenthood and stood against any kind of social change that reasonable people would see as progressive. I’m not in contact with them anymore but I would bet my entire life savings that they voted Trump.”

She chances a sideways glance at Clarke and sees she’s listening intently.

“Anyway growing up in that household was an experience,” Lexa continues, free hand nervously tugging her collar. “Anything I did which they deemed to be ‘against our Lord’ resulted in punishment. I’m not talking big things here. I mean things kids do all the time like coming home with muddy clothes or accidentally breaking one of their toys. I lived in a constant state of fear.”

“What did they do?”

Clarke asks so quietly, so softly that Lexa wouldn’t be sure she’d spoken at all if she hadn’t seen her lips move.

“Well by some small mercy they weren’t fans of the ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’ approach. They never hit me. They used to lock me in the cupboard under the stairs, mostly. Usually for hours at a time so I could think about what I’d done. Kind of like a really morose version of Harry Potter,” she jokes bitterly.

Clarke doesn’t laugh. Instead she looks physically repulsed.

“Lexa that’s awful,” Clarke whispers, grasping her hand tighter. “No one should ever have to go through something like that, least of all a child.”

Lexa shrugs. “You should have seen what they did when they found out I was gay.”

Clarke makes a strangled noise and her eyebrows shoot skywards. For a second Lexa thinks she might have swallowed her tongue.

“Kidding,” Lexa reassures, looking back to the ceiling. “Sorry, humour is my coping mechanism. I was long gone before they ever got wind of that. I mean I’m sure they had their suspicions but nothing they could ever actually prove.”

She glances at Clarke again only to see that she’s still wearing the same shocked expression.

 Lexa’s stomach lurches violently. Usually she wouldn’t be so flippant about her sexuality but she got caught up in the moment. Whilst Clarke seems like a pretty down to earth person, you can never be sure of someone’s views on homosexuality. Homophobes look just like everyone else.

“Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, I-”

“What?” Clarke interrupts. “You being _gay_?”

Then, as ever, Clarke totally surprises her. Because she laughs. It starts as a giggle at first before descending into full on shrieks of laughter that bounce off the walls of the compartment. When she stops, smiles, and bites down on her lower lip, Lexa’s heart stops beating for a hot second.

“Oh Lexa,” Clarke breezes. “That would make me the biggest hypocrite.”

Lexa does her best impression of a goldfish, mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Where has her ability to form words gone?

Clarke smiles and rolls her eyes. “I’m the much overlooked B in LGBT,” she shrugs. “It’s not a big deal.”

It _is_ a big deal, Lexa thinks. It’s a huge fucking deal because although she’d allowed herself to imagine it briefly, she never _actually_ thought Clarke could be into girls. Sure, there’s been the odd flirty moment but you can’t read into that. This though, _this_ is concrete.

“Oh. Cool,” Lexa says, trying to sound nonchalant.

She sounds anything but nonchalant. How can she when she’s mentally conducting a one-woman gay pride parade?

Not that she has a right to be excited. Clarke is her employee and therefore an unacceptable dating option. Still, a woman can dream.

“Yeah, cool,” Clarke repeats with a grin. “Anyway what I meant was I couldn’t believe that someone’s parents would be such colossal assholes over the possibility of their kid being gay. Like it’s so fucked. There’s no room for prejudice like that anymore. I mean it’s a fucking prehistoric attitude.”

“I know,” Lexa agrees. “I haven’t seen them in 10 years. Don’t plan on changing that anytime soon. Or ever, actually.”

Clarke hums in agreement and a comfortable silence falls over them. Lexa feels oddly relieved that the space they find themselves contained in doesn’t seem quite so constricting. There’s something pleasantly cathartic about this, just being open and honest with Clarke.

 Anya had been the first person she discussed all this with and it had been Anya who had helped Lexa come to terms with her sexuality when they worked together in New York. But with Clarke it feels...different... _easier_ for reasons she can’t possibly explain.

“Hang on, I don’t get it,” Clarke frowns.

Lexa frowns back. “Don’t get what?”

“If you knew you were claustrophobic why’d you get in the elevator? You could have taken the stairs.”

Ah. There it is. That thin sheen of sweat materialising on her forehead. How she’d missed it.

“Honestly?” Lexa asks. Clarke nods. “I didn’t want to make things worse. I was pretty sure you already hated me after this afternoon and I didn’t want to exacerbate the situation. It would have looked rude if I’d refused to get in with you.”

Clarke tilts her head and fixes her with a curious look. It’s so intense she has to avert her gaze.

“I don’t hate you,” Clarke says. A beat passes. “I’ve never hated you, actually. I think we just...clashed. We’re both pretty headstrong, right?”

Lexa nods, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“Plus I’m prone to overreacting when my pride is damaged. Just ask Raven and Octavia and they’ll tell you a million stories,” Clarke chuckles lightly. “I probably should have stayed to talk it out with you earlier instead of leaving.”

“You know I was wrong,” Lexa admits. “The designs were actually really good. I guess I should have looked before I leaped. Literally.”

“Come on, you don’t have to lie to me,” Clarke dismisses with a wave of her hand.

“I don’t lie.”

“Not even about broken indicators?”

Lexa’s head snaps up so quickly she almost gives herself whiplash. Clarke’s looking right back at her with a grin the Cheshire cat would envy. She’s totally busted.

“Uhhh...you see about that,” Lexa begins. “I meant to tell you, I just-I didn’t...when you said-”

“Relax Lexa, I’m not going to give you shit for it,” Clarke chuckles.

“What, really?”

She can’t be off the hook that easy.

“Really. It’s in the past, let’s just forget about it,” Clarke insists. “Though did you give Raven unbridled access to your car? Because I asked her to fix my radio once and she left it stuck on NPR as a joke.”

Lexa laughs, feeling some of the residual tension leave her body. “Raven is...definitely a character. Have you been friends long?”

“Yeah, since we were kids. I can’t seem to get rid of her, “Clarke jokes.

“She’s very persistent,” Lexa notes.

Clarke tilts her head. “Isn’t she just? Seriously though, she’s like family to me as much as she can be a pain in the ass. Octavia too. The three of us have been best friends for years now.”

This is nice, she thinks, talking to Clarke about her friends like they haven’t been in almost constant conflict with each other since they met. It almost feels like inside these four walls all the rules, regulations and boundaries of the office environment don’t apply. It’s starting to feel a little less like a boss/employee dynamic and a little more like they’re just two people having a normal conversation.

“Though does it make sense if I say the two of them together drive me up the wall but keep me sane at the same time?”

Lexa nods. She gets it. Her relationship with Anya follows a similar pattern.

“They’re very... _close_ , aren’t they?”

“You noticed that, huh?” Clarke smirks.

“Well they always seem to be together...or with you,” Lexa says. “Then I saw the photo frame on Raven’s desk and assumed they were a couple. I was surprised when she said they weren’t.”

Clarke gapes at her in disbelief. “You mentioned the crush that must not be named? What did Raven say?”

Lexa’s lips curve into a small smile because Clarke definitely has a penchant for Harry Potter with a reference like that. It seems that, along with being headstrong and occasionally clumsy, is another thing they have in common.

“Well first she laughed. Then she vehemently denied that there was anything more than friendship between them,” Lexa says. “It seemed like she was-”

“-totally overcompensating?”

 “Yeah.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Yeah they both do that. A lot. I don’t know why they don’t just admit to their feelings and go for it. It’s _so_ obvious!” she groans. “I mean it’s obvious to you and you barely know them.”

Lexa shrugs. “Sometimes that isn’t possible. You said it yourself, they’re best friends. Maybe they don’t want to risk ruining that friendship?”

“What’s life without risks?” Clarke asks. Lexa correctly assumes it’s rhetorical. “If you like someone you should just go for it. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Well like I said, it could ruin their friendship,” Lexa points out. “Is that _really_ worth the risk? What if they decide being in a relationship wasn’t the right move and it was all for nothing?”

Clarke frowns and suddenly Lexa doesn’t like where this conversation is going. This territory is both familiar and alien. She definitely doesn’t want to be going down this road with the woman she has a big gay crush on. Plus Clarke is getting rather impassioned about all this, her frown growing deeper as she contemplates her response.

“You can’t go through life wondering _what if_ ,’ Clarke protests. “Because one day you’ll look back and regret it. Life is too short for ‘what ifs’ and ‘could haves.’”

“So what, we should just go around being reckless?” Lexa deadpans. “Is that the alternative, Clarke?”

Uh oh. Lexa can feel the band of tension growing taut between them all over again as Clarke’s frown deepens to match her own. She silently wonders what it will happen when they reach breaking point. There’s no door for Clarke to storm out of this time.

“I’m not saying that,” Clarke argues. “I’m saying Raven and O like each other. Scratch that, they _love_ each other. I just don’t understand why-”

“Because sometimes love isn’t enough!” Lexa snaps.

She reels after the words leave her mouth. Where the fuck did that come from?

 Out of the two of them she thought Clarke would be the one to lose her temper, but this conversation has touched a nerve. It hurts. Its awakened feelings she would sooner forget. Something unspoken shifts between them and now Clarke’s looking at her with an expression she can’t place. She hopes it isn’t pity.

“Have you ever been in love?” Clarke asks softly.

“Once,” Lexa admits, softer still. It’s spoken so quietly she’s not sure Clarke has heard her.

For a while they just sit there, neither of them making an attempt to talk. She’s not sure how much time has passed. Probably only minutes though they feel like hours as the silence stretches on.

When Clarke shifts beside her she looks up from beneath her eyelashes, straight into impossibly deep pools of blue. If she’s not careful she’ll drown in them.

“What’s it like?” Clarke all but whispers.

Lexa opens her mouth to answer and then closes it again because how can she possibly? She looks down at their hands, fingers still interlocked feels her heart sink inside her chest. She won’t open herself up to this again. Though it’s just a crush for now, these inconvenient feelings have a habit of manifesting into something more. 400 years later and Shakespeare still isn’t wrong. _These violent delights have violent ends._

 Turning her face away, she lets go of Clarke’s hand.

“Devastating.”

 

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

Clarke POV

 

Clarke isn’t sure she can pinpoint exactly where things turned so somber. One moment they were laughing and joking and then next everything turned entirely too serious. It had happened so fast it made her head spin.

Out of the corner of her eye she glances at Lexa’s watch where the dial pokes out from beneath her blazer. They’ve been in here almost an hour and they’ve been sitting in silence for almost half that time. Lexa’s story about her childhood was, for lack of a better term, fucking harrowing.

As if that wasn’t soul-destroying enough to hear, Lexa had then alluded to some past heartbreak that evidently left a lasting impression. Clarke’s own heart is breaking for her.

She thinks she’s beginning to understand why now - beginning to understand why Lexa seems so guarded. Lexa’s not trying to be mysterious or aloof for the sake of appearances, it’s because she’s been through hell.

A quick glance to her left tells her Lexa still looks just as downtrodden as she did half an hour ago, her eyes focused on the ceiling tiles above them. She wishes she knew what to say to make it better...or at least alleviate some of the awkwardness that’s settled. What she wouldn’t give to go back in time and steer them away from that ill-fated conversation about love.

Because truth be told, she had genuinely enjoyed seeing the real Lexa. The one with the dry sense of humour and quick wit. From the sound of her laugh to the easiness of her smile, Clarke had relished it all.

She sighs and pulls her phone out of her pocket in a bid to distract herself from the uncomfortable atmosphere. Amazingly she still has wifi. No signal to make any calls or texts but that little wifi symbol is going strong. What a godsend.

That’s when she gets an idea. An idea that will turn this miserable situation into something significantly more positive if she can get Lexa on board. And she believes she can. Because if Clarke Griffin is good at one thing, it’s ignoring her problems. She is, in her own words, a master of distraction. Usually that would mean a Netflix binge or a Mario Kart marathon with Raven and O but today she’s going to try something a little different.

“Do you wanna play a game?”

Clarke cringes at her wording. Channelling the doll from the Saw movies is not her intention. Still it piques Lexa’s interest as she tears her gaze away from the ceiling.

“A game?” Lexa repeats unsurely. Clarke nods. “What kind of game?”

“It’s an app I’ve got on my phone,” Clarke says, turning the screen so Lexa can see. “It’s a random question generator. We take it in turns and the app throws out a random question. We have to answer whatever it asks. It’s fun, I promise,” she tacks on, seeing Lexa’s frown.

Lexa arches her eyebrow. “Doesn’t sound like much of a game. How do you win?”

“Well you don’t really win as such. It isn’t always about winning.”

“I disagree.”

“Spoken like a true strategist,” Clarke teases, smiling with her tongue between her teeth.

“Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke,” Lexa deadpans.

Clarke can’t ignore the soaring feeling in her chest as Lexa tries (and fails) to fight off a smile of her own. That’s the kind of reaction she was hoping for. If she can leave this elevator having heard Lexa laugh again, she’ll consider her idea a resounding success.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Clarke insists, moving to sit cross-legged in front of Lexa. “It’ll help to pass the time until Raven hauls her ass into gear and rescues us. Plus I’m not sure if I could live with myself if I left this elevator without knowing,” she pauses to look down at the screen, “what your favourite colour is.”

Lexa rolls her eyes. She can pretend she’s not enjoying this all she wants but her smile betrays her.

“It changes but right now I’m partial to blue.”

Clarke grins. “See now we’re getting somewhere. Here, it’s your turn,” she says, handing the phone to Lexa.

Lexa takes it and frowns a little. “You mean you’re not going to tell me what your favourite colour is?”

“Well I kind of figured we’d just ask the questions back and forth. But seeing as you’re so desperate to know, it’s green,” Clarke says, pausing to make pointed eye contact. “Emerald to be exact.”

She tries not to take immense satisfaction in the way a faint blush spreads across Lexa’s cheeks. At this point she knows she’s being painfully obvious but fuck it. She’s almost 100% certain Lexa doesn’t possess the sheer lack of tact to call her out on it. She’s far too reserved for that.

Here’s the thing; Clarke likes Lexa. She can admit to that. There’s no sense lying to herself. She likes Lexa in the way employees definitely shouldn’t like their boss. Because absolutely nothing about wanting to tear someone’s clothes off and explore every inch of their body screams ‘professional attitude.’

But the real kicker is she’s pretty sure Lexa likes her right back. Maybe Raven and O were right and it’s just as simple as a schoolgirl crush. But equally maybe not. There have been more than a few charged moments and a handful of glances that linger too long where they shouldn’t. Lexa might think she’s being subtle but Clarke has noticed those soulful green eyes dart to her lips on more than one occasion.

“Alright Clarke, I’ll humour you,” Lexa says. “Just give me a second. The temperature in here is reaching Sahara-like levels.”

It’s all Clarke can do not to groan in appreciation as Lexa shrugs off her blazer because the woman has some serious biceps going on. She’s not religious but she silently thanks God and also Jesus for the fact that Lexa decided to wear a sleeveless shirt today.

When she spots the intricate looking tattoo winding around Lexa’s upper arm she can’t help but stare. Who knew she had a thing for tattoos? She didn’t. Not until right now. She wonders when Lexa got it and whether it means anything to her or if-

“Clarke?”

She snaps out of her daze with a jolt. “What?”

“I said you’re staring,” Lexa points out. She grins a second later. “See something you like?”

It’s said in jest but when Lexa gives her a very self-satisfied smirk, Clarke realises she might not be as reserved as originally thought. Fair enough. Game on.

“Yes actually,” Clarke counters. She pauses purposefully, watching Lexa’s smirk falter. “Your tattoo. It’s awesome.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Lexa says, glancing down at her own arm. “I got this one when I left home.”

“This one?” Clarke questions. “You’ve got more?”

“Yep.”

“Where?”

“Nowhere you can see with clothes on.”

Right then, Clarke thinks, swallowing hard. That’s that.

“Shall we start then?” Lexa asks. “I _almost_ can’t wait to play a game in which there are no winners or losers.”

With the nsfw mental images she’s conjuring up, Clarke’s pretty certain she’s already the winner.

 

 

 

 

This game was a great idea Clarke decides 10 minutes in. Not only does it pass the time but it also serves as a way for them to learn more about each other whilst avoiding the painful small-talk associated with getting to know someone new.

They’ve certainly laughed a lot so far. It seems to have pulled Lexa out of her somber mood which is definitely encouraging.

Lexa’s first question had been “Who is the most famous person you’ve ever met?” That had left Clarke to painfully recount how she’d literally bumped into Ariana Grande once on Rodeo Drive and almost knocked her flying. Lexa laughed even harder when Clarke told her that Raven refused to talk to her for a whole week because she failed to get a selfie.

So far Clarke has learned that Lexa’s favourite TV show is Jessica Jones, her least favourite food is avocado and that she once sat next to Charlize Theron at a benefit dinner. She’s insanely jealous of the last one. That’s until Lexa explains she was so nervous she tried to eat her soup with a fork.

“Ok, this is a good one,” Lexa says, composing herself after their laughter dies down. “What would you be doing if you weren’t here right now?”

“Well it’s after 6 so I’d be meeting Octavia at The Dropship,” Clarke says. “When I get my signal back I’ll probably have a hundred messages demanding to know why I stood her up.”

“The Dropship?” Lexa asks.

“It’s this little dive bar we go to over on Washington,” Clarke explains. “The guy who runs it is a real sarcastic motherfucker but the beer is cheap and the cheese fries are to die for. Do you go out much?”

Lexa shakes her head. “I haven’t had the time. Anya keeps nagging me to have a social life so I suspect I’ll be dragged into the night kicking and screaming soon enough.”

Clarke can practically see the light bulb go off above her own head.

“You should come out with us some time!” Clarke exclaims. “In fact we’ll be at The Dropship next Saturday for Monty’s birthday. You should totally come – it’ll be fun.”

Lexa smiles for a fraction of a second before frowning. “As tempting as that sounds I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to go out drinking with my employees. Thanks for the offer though.”

“Oh come on. Is that _actually_ in the company guidelines?” Clarke scoffs. “What about the Christmas party? Everyone gets loaded at that.”

“The Christmas party is a carefully monitored company event,” Lexa counters.

Clarke arches an eyebrow.

Lexa sighs. “Well they haven’t got anything in writing as far as weekend socialising goes but it’s definitely frowned upon. So I’d still have to decline.”

“Frowned upon, schmowned upon,” Clarke dismisses. “I think you’re just a lightweight. That’s why you’re afraid to come out with us,” she teases.

Lexa chuckles and shakes her head. “I guess you’ll never know. Anyway it’s your turn to ask a question.”

Clarke accepts her phone back, a little disappointed that Lexa had let the matter drop. In reality it’s probably for the best that Lexa doesn’t come out with them. She already has a huge crush on the brunette and adding alcohol to the mix is almost definitely a bad idea. Anything more than five drinks and her verbal filter disappears entirely.

“Ok here we go,” Clarke announces, pausing to read the next question. “What’s your f-”

She cuts herself short. The question on the screen reads “What’s your family like?” She can’t ask Lexa that. Not after that confession earlier. Instead she improvises.

“Why did you really leave New York?”

Lexa frowns skeptically. “That seems oddly specific for a random question.”

Ok it’s not an improvisation so much as a question she’s been itching to ask ever since Lexa arrived in the LA office.

“Humour me, would you?” Clarke presses. “Why come back to LA when you had an amazing job in New York? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Come back to LA?” Lexa repeats, narrowing her eyes. “How did you know I’m from LA? I never mentioned that.”

And finally she’s been caught out. She knew looking into Lexa’s background would catch up with her eventually. She’ll have to play this cool.

“You’re not the only one who reads people’s files,” Clarke smirks. Lexa’s eyes widen in response. “Oh wait, god no – I didn’t read _your_ file...just your profile...on the Trikru website,” she stammers. “I had to know what I was up against.”

Wow, Griffin. Decidedly not cool.

Lexa’s frown slowly transforms into a knowing grin. “So you _spied_ on me?”

Clarke blushes profusely. “Spying is such a harsh word. Plus is it really considered _spying_ if the information is publicly accessible? Anyway you’re avoiding the question.”

“Clarke,” Lexa warns.

“Lexa,” Clarke repeats mockingly, flashing a quick smile. “Just answer me this one thing. Tell you what, we’ll compromise. You answer this and you can ask me anything you want and I promise I’ll be 100% truthful. Deal?”

Lexa frowns. “You don’t have much experience in negation do you?”

Clarke chooses to ignore that jibe. “Come on, I feel like we’re bonding here. You can trust me,” she says, straightening up. “The company is in trouble isn’t it? I may look like your stereotypical dumb blonde but I’m not an idiot. I _know_ something’s up.”

“I know you’re not an idiot, Clarke, “ Lexa’s quick to shoot down that comment. “You’re far from it, it’s just that,” she pauses, teeth worrying her lower lip. “Look if I tell you this you _can’t_ repeat it to anyone. Not Raven, not Octavia, no one. I’m being deadly serious.”

“I promise,” Clarke says. “You have my word.”

She doesn’t balk under the steely gaze Lexa fixes her with whilst she tries to figure out if she’s being sincere or not. It must have been convincing enough because a few seconds later Lexa’s launching into an explanation of exactly why this project is so important.

It turns out their success with Polaris is pivotal to the fate of the LA office. They are relatively small in terms of capital compared to the other offices. This project is essentially a test to see if they can pull off a corporate scale project. It boils down to this: if they win, everyone keeps their jobs. If they lose, Gustus pulls the plug and relocates a smaller creative division in New York.

“Fuck,” Clarke breathes out. “200 people lose their jobs if we fuck this up.”

Lexa nods. “You see now the gravity of the task,” she says. “At this stage I’m confident in our team’s abilities. We’ve got some exceptionally talented individuals on our side. You included.”

Clarke tries to fight off the blush she feels burning on her cheeks. It’s just a simple compliment. Imagine the state she’d be in if Lexa really gave her something to blush about.

Though Lexa’s past actions have a lot more clarity with this new information, something still doesn’t add up. It still feels as though Lexa’s holding something back. What it is she doesn’t know.

“And that’s the _only_ reason you left New York?” Clarke asks, looking Lexa directly in the eye. “Because I’ve gotta be honest Lexa, it makes sense but I’m not totally buying it.”

Lexa stills. Clearly she hadn’t been expecting such a direct question.

“You said I had to answer one question, not two.”

“It’s a two-parter.”

When Lexa frowns and tilts her head in response, Clarke maintains her determined expression. She won’t be backing down on this one.

“Fine. You’re right. That’s not the only reason,” Lexa admits grudgingly. “I also accepted the position for the opportunity to thrash Azgeda. Nothing would please me more than to beat Nia Queen at her own game.”

“So you’re not her biggest fan?” Clarke jokes.

“The woman is fucking repugnant ,” Lexa says flatly.

Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up practically into her hairline. She hasn’t heard Lexa swear before. She likes it.

“Everything she does is for her own selfish gain,” Lexa continues. “It’s a trait that runs in the family. Her son, Roan, is as misogynistic as he is conceited. Her daughter, Ontari...well, the less said about her the better quite frankly. And do you really think Titus passing Azgeda information was his idea? Nia definitely put him up to it.”

“You know a lot about Azgeda then?” Clarke asks.

“They’re one of our biggest competitors, Clarke. On this project they’re the only competitor,” Lexa points out.”It makes sense to know your enemy and familiarise yourself with their strengths and weaknesses.”

“Enemy? That’s an odd choice of word. Sounds personal.”

“It is.”

Lexa presses her lips into a thin line and looks off to the left.  Clarke decides not to push the explanation any further. Lexa’s already been incredibly open on a subject she’s not supposed to discuss. Whatever personal issue she has, whether its with Nia Queen or Azgeda as a whole, is not up for debate. At least not today.

She decides another change of subject might be for the best here. The conversation has been flowing consistently...if only they could stop veering off into dangerous territory.

“Well go on,” Clarke says brightly.

Lexa turns to face her, brow creased in confusion.

“Now that I’ve thoroughly grilled you, you’re free to ask whatever you want,” Clarke confirms. “Those were the terms. So hit me with it commander, what’s your question?”

Lexa’s instantaneous grimace causes a grin to form on Clarke’s face in response.

 “Please don’t use that nickname,” Lexa groans.

“How’d you get it?”

Lexa’s smirk is slow and deliberate as she arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “I think you’ll find I’m the one asking the questions now, Clarke.”

Damn.

So Clarke waits. She sits and waits in silence as Lexa contemplates what it is she wants to ask. She hopes it not too embarrassing because she swore she’d be honest. Clarke Griffin is not the kind of person who goes back on her word.

“Ok, I’m ready.”

When she looks up, Lexa’s looking right back at her as she bites her lip, seemingly still in contemplation. Her heart skips a beat. It’s probably the sexiest thing she has ever, and is ever, likely to see in her life.

“Earlier you said if you like someone you should just go for it,” Lexa says carefully. “Consequences be damned.”

Clarke’s heart skips another beat. “What’s your question?”

“My question is how do you know...how do you know they won’t just flat out reject you?” Lexa asks. “What if it’s extremely inappropriate for you to like that person? There has to be exceptions.”

This time her heart doesn’t so much skip a beat as pound furiously in her chest. Dare she dream to think that Lexa might be talking about her? It’s foolish, it’s a huge reach, it’s improbable but god does she want it to be true.

“Well there’s an easy way to work it out,” Clarke says. “Just use the NNY model.”

“The NNY model?” Lexa repeats.

“A simple no, no, yes. You ask three basic questions and if it follows the pattern no, no, yes then it’s a green light,” Clarke explains.

Lexa frowns. “Sounds dubious.”

“Give it a chance, O ye of little faith,” Clarke teases, shifting so she’s kneeling in a more comfortable position. “We’ll try my theory out on your mystery girl. Trust me, you’re gonna thank me for this. First question: are they married or in a relationship of any kind?”

“No. Or at least I don’t think so.”

“Good. Second question, are they now or have they ever been involved in any illegal activity?”

“I certainly hope not.”

“Cool. There’s your two no’s.”

“That’s your criteria?” Lexa scoffs. “It isn’t very specific.”

“It doesn’t need to be. You can figure the rest out as you go,” Clarke dismisses with a smile. “And the third, _thee_ most important question of all is...do you want to?”

Clarke swears she can _feel_ the change in the atmosphere as Lexa’s emerald green orbs lock onto hers. She’s totally transfixed as Lexa blinks slowly, her pupils significantly more dilated than they’d been just moments ago. Her gaze lowers, following the motion of Lexa’s tongue as it darts out to sweep across her lower lip. Holy fuck is this actually happening?

“Yes,” Lexa breathes out.

It’s happening. Clarke swallows hard, not daring to break eye contact for even a second. Somehow, perhaps subconsciously, they seem to have moved closer to each other. When she draws in a shaky breath she can smell the faint undertones of Lexa’s perfume mixed with sweat. The heady combination makes her dizzy.

“Then go for it.”

Lexa doesn’t move. Neither of them do.

Perhaps Lexa hadn’t been referring to her at all when she talked about having an inappropriate attraction to someone. Maybe she’s been reading the signals wrong this entire time.

Suddenly the temperature in the elevator feels stifling as though the air is crackling with unseen electricity. It’s almost unbearable.

Fuck it. She’s going to go for it and if Lexa rebuffs her she can blame it on cabin fever from spending a prolonged period in this metal box. Life is too fucking short to wonder about ‘what ifs.’

Every sense is heightened as she shifts her weight, planting her palms on the floor just in front of her knees. She holds her breath and then slowly, at a pace that’s almost glacial in its execution, she leans in. Her eyes dart from Lexa’s lips to her eyes and back again. She _sees_ the bob of Lexa’s throat as she swallows, _hears_ the breath catch in her throat and possibly imagines the small sigh that follows.

It would be so easy, she thinks, so easy just to surge forward and crash their lips together. But it wouldn’t be right. For the past two weeks since the day they met, every interaction, every argument, every smile shared has been leading up to this moment. It demands nothing less than perfection.

When Lexa finally, finally summons the courage to lean in herself, she know this is it. This is-

The sudden jolt knocks her flat on her ass and she lands with a heavy thud. It takes a second for her brain to register the familiar hum of machinery as the elevator springs back into action. Raven must have fixed the problem...she has the worst fucking timing.

Lexa scrambles to her feet and then offers her a hand. It would be altogether too sweet a gesture if Lexa wasn’t refusing to look her in the eye as she did so. Still she accepts and lets herself be pulled up from the floor. Her hand is still in Lexa’s when the doors open a second later.

Of course Raven and Octavia are waiting expectantly, their twin smirks positively gleeful. Lexa drops her hand as though burned but she’s not quite quick enough for it to avoid keen eyes.

“Well, well, well,” Raven drawls, arms crossed over her chest. “Looks like you two sorted out your differences.”

Ever the diplomat, Lexa ignores the comment. “Thanks for getting us out of there, Raven.”

“Yes thank you, Raven,” Clarke reiterates, her tone sour. “What are you doing here?” she asks, turning to Octavia.

“You were supposed to meet me at The Dropship at 6 in case you’re forgetting,” Octavia says. “I called Rae when I couldn’t get in touch with you. I can’t believe you let me down on free shot Friday.”

Clarke scowls. “It’s not like I had a choice in the matter-”

Lexa clears her throat. “I’d better get going. I have a lot of paperwork to get through this evening. Thanks again, Raven. Have a good weekend, all of you.”

Lexa gives her a small smile and a subtle nod before she turns on her heel and walks towards the main office. There’s a strange pull in her chest as she watches Lexa go, not looking away until the brunette has disappeared from sight.

When she does turn back around, her two best friends are grinning so hard she’s surprised their faces haven’t literally cracked.

“Don’t even start,” Clarke warns. “At least not until we get home.”

She begins her descent down the stairs, not wanting to tempt fate with the elevator again. Behind her Raven and Octavia follow, talking in hushed whispers all the while. She’s grateful they can’t see the smile on her face because its fucking huge. And why?

Well, because Lexa Woods – commander, award-winning strategist and impossibly gorgeous human being, definitely likes her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading - please let me know if you like where the story is going :)  
> Next time: I think this burn has been slow enough, don't you?  
> Also, I'll try to update in a week but don't hold me to that.  
> HMU on tumblr at toolateintheday  
> Until next time!


	10. Tequila is the Devil (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mixed POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you a million times for all your comments and kudos - I am loving the love for this fic.  
> Disclosure - I decided to split this fic into two parts otherwise we're gonna be well over 10k words and it felt like too much at once.  
> However I should have the next part up by the end of the week.  
> Enjoy the chapter :)

Clarke POV

When Clarke walks into the Trikru offices on Monday morning she does so with a smile on her face. Not even Raven’s grumbling about how freakishly hot it is today as she trails behind her can diminish that smile.

Usually the prospect of starting a new working week would have her sulking over just how quickly the weekend had flown by. But that was before.

Now she thinks she might arrive with a smile every day with the knowledge that she’ll soon be seeing a certain brunette. A certain brunette with eyes the shade of evergreen forests (she’d have no qualms about getting lost in those) and a jawline for days. And then there’s that smile. God, _that_ smile.

The truth is she hasn’t been able to get Lexa out of her head all weekend. Thinking about Lexa almost constantly seems to have put her in an unnaturally good mood.

Following Friday’s near-miss kiss she’d spent the ride home contesting Raven and Octavia’s insinuations that something had happened in the elevator. They’d dropped the matter surprisingly quickly when she’d suggested salvaging the evening by going to a bar. Perhaps she’s a more convincing liar than she thought.

Saturday was the day she finally picked up the phone and spoke to her Mom for the first time in months. The conversation might have been awkward and a little stilted but they’re making progress. She’s now down as a ‘yes’ on the RSVP list but there’s a lot of consolidation to be had before then.

Raven grunts in lieu of goodbye when they reach the elevator and Clarke steps in, pressing the button for 5th. It’s impossible not to smile wider as she thinks back to Friday and the time spent confined within these four metal walls. Who would’ve thought she’d get all nostalgic over being trapped in an elevator? It’s admittedly weird.

Or at least it would be if the experience hadn’t been so intense in the best of ways. It comes down to this one simple fact: she almost kissed Lexa. Lexa almost kissed her. They both know it. The question is what are they going to do about it?

That’s the drawback. It’s a possibility that both delights and terrifies her the more she thinks about it. Because what are they now? Friends? Lexa’s still her superior but she can’t imagine them going back to the same dynamic as before. Not after the secrets they’ve shared. But there are obstacles –and not just the inter-office romance kind.

The truth is she doesn’t know what _she_ wants, let alone what Lexa’s take on this is. Is she looking for just a one night thing, a steady fuck-buddy or, heaven forbid, something more meaningful? If she allowed herself to think about the question for more than a few seconds she’d know the answer. So she doesn’t.

When she arrives at her desk, Octavia is already at her own, desk fan blowing on the top setting as she types out an email.

She smiles when she spots the iced latte on her desk, condensation glistening over the black marker reading “Clarke.”

“Good morning,” Clarke greets.

 Octavia grunts, still squinting at her computer screen. Is everyone usually this uncommunicative in the mornings or does she just not notice because she’s usually one of them?

 “Thanks for the coffee ,” Clarke says, taking a sip. “It’s so damn hot today. Raven kept whining about how her ass was sticking to the car seat. It’s a visual I didn’t particularly need at 8am. Or ever.”

“Huh?” Octavia says distractedly, glancing away from the screen. “Oh, that wasn’t me. It was here when I got here. I was tempted to drink it myself but I know you’re dangerous when not caffeinated.”

Clarke frowns. “Then who-”

“There’s something stuck to the bottom,” Octavia says, nodding at the cup.

Clarke lifts the cup and sure enough there is something stuck to the bottom – a piece of paper no bigger than a postage stamp. She peels it off and unfolds it, staring down at the looped cursive that’s remarkably neat though the ink is smudged with moisture.

_“Try not to spill this one.”_

Clarke’s unable to stop the smile that spreads across her face as she makes the connection. There’s no obvious identifier but she knows that it can only be Lexa. It’s the exact same drink she spilled on herself the day they met. She marvels at how far they’ve come in the space of three short weeks – from explosive confrontations to private jokes. It’s so very gay.

“So who’s it from?”

Clarke crumples the paper in her hand. “No idea,” she shrugs. “It’s just the receipt.”

“Yes, I also like to smile at receipts like a love struck teenager,” Octavia deadpans before turning back to her screen.

Clarke ignores the very pointed comment and busies herself with turning her computer on. Mercifully she can put the colouring of her cheeks down to the temperature in the office. Even with the air con on max and several fans about the place it’s nothing short of sweltering.

She glances to Lexa’s office before she sits down, a little disappointed to see the blinds are closed. She settles for typing out a thank you on the network’s instant messaging system instead. Technically it’s supposed to be for work related messaging but she’s used it to coordinate lunch breaks with Raven and O more than once. As long as Indra isn’t lurking around it should be fine.

**9:12am CGriffin:** Thanks for the coffee. However I thought you didn’t like playing favourites with your employees? 

She’s pretty satisfied with herself when she hits send. It’s polite and a little flirty but not too suggestive. The perfect combination.

The reply comes mere seconds later with the ping of a message notification. Clarke casts a furtive look to Octavia who seems to still be engrossed in composing her email. She mutes the sound on her monitor, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

**9:12am LWoods:** Seeing as the vast majority of my employees haven’t been imprisoned in an elevator with me, I made an exception.

Clarke smiles at that.

**9:13am CGriffin** :...so does that mean I’m your favourite now? ;)

The winky face is perhaps a bit much in retrospect but she can’t take it back now. She waits on baited breath as she sees ‘typing’ appear at the bottom of the chat window.

**9:13am LWoods:** Don’t push your luck, Clarke.

**9:13am LWoods:** Though I’m glad you were trapped it there with me.

Clarke’s eyes widen comically.

**9:13am LWoods:** Because of your experience with panic attacks, I mean.

**9:13am LWoods:** Just to clarify.

Sure, ‘just to clarify,’ Clarke smirks. Lexa’s overcompensating. She chuckles to herself before she remembers where she is and clamps her mouth shut. Octavia is not so subtly trying to peer at her screen. She switches to the InDesign tab until Octavia looks away.

**9:14am CGriffin:** Thanks for the clarification. I was beginning to worry you might genuinely have found my company pleasant.

**9:14am LWoods:** Pleasant? No. Tolerable? Yes.

Sarcasm this early in the morning? Ok, Lexa, you’re the boss.

**9:15am CGriffin:** Whatever. I know you like me.

**915:am CGriffin:** Just to clarify.

Clarke looks back at what she’s typed and bites down on the inside of her cheek because really, the implication isn’t even subtle. She’s grateful when Octavia gets up to talk to Harper. Now she can silently freak out without fear of being watched. This might have been one risqué comment too far.

Lexa’s reply doesn’t come for a few minutes but when it does, it causes her heart to beat erratically.

**9:18am LWoods:** Come to my office.

Wait, is this Lexa escalating their flirting or is she pissed off? Perhaps another humorous comment to test the water is needed.

**9:18am CGriffin:** Don’t I need an appointment to do that? :p

**9:19am LWoods:** Now, Clarke.

Yeah, Lexa definitely sounds pissed off. Whatever, Clarke thinks as she gets up from her chair. Lexa can pretend to be annoyed all she wants.

 Doesn’t change the fact they almost kissed. Doesn’t change the fact they find each other attractive. Doesn’t change the fact that she’s gonna walk into that office and flirt outrageously either.

 

 

 

When she steps into Lexa’s office she almost moans at the pleasant change in temperature. It’s far cooler in her than it is in the main workspace. It’s probably something to do with the expensive looking air conditioning unit in the corner.

She almost moans again when she catches sight of Lexa sat behind her desk because _hot damn_.

Today Lexa’s wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, showing off some seriously toned forearms. Her hair is pulled back into messy bun just above the base of her neck but what gets her, what really gets her, is the pair of horn rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She’s the personification of every inappropriate office sex fantasy Clarke’s ever had.

Lexa smiles at her in greeting - it’s so unexpected and oh so beautiful that her breath catches in her throat. She coughs awkwardly to cover it. This has thrown her off kilter. It’s not the frosty reception she’d been anticipating at all.

“Have a seat,” Lexa says, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk.

Clarke sits, trying to give the outward appearance of being calm and composed as she does so. This is the first time they’ve come face to face since their almost kiss and so far Lexa’s reaction is impossible to gauge. It’s making her incredibly nervous. Despite all her big talk, it’s much easier to flirt behind the safety of a keyboard.

Plus her track record of conversations with Lexa in this office isn’t exactly sparkling. She’s stormed out every time so far. Maybe the fourth time is a charm.

 “So is this about the logo?” Clarke asks. “Because I did start reworking my designs over the weekend but-”

“No,” Lexa cuts her off. “It isn’t about work.”

Clarke’s heart beats a mile a minute. Fuck, are they about to address the big gay elephant in the room?

“This is a thank you,” Lexa says. “A proper one.”

Clarke blinks. Seemingly the elephant will remain visible but very much ignored. For now.

“I just wanted to say that I truly am grateful for what you did for me on Friday. If you weren’t there to help me who knows what would have happened,” Lexa says, meeting her eyes. “Honestly, I owe you one.”

God, it feels like she’s staring straight into her soul with those piercing green eyes. Why is everything about Lexa so intense?

“You covered your debt with the coffee. And technically you wouldn’t have even _been_ in the elevator if it weren’t for me,” Clarke teases. “So we’ll call it even.”

Lexa chuckles lightly and shakes her head. “You know for someone so confident and self-assured you think you’d be able to take a compliment. I mean it, Clarke. Thank you.”

Yep, this is waaaay too intense for her liking. She feels totally out of her depth with Lexa being so damn grateful and humble and sincere. This is supposed to be light-hearted and flirty, not serious and heartfelt. She needs to alter the dynamic and fast.

“Ah I see what this is. I know why you really summoned me in here,” Clarke accuses with a wry smile. Lexa frowns. “You’re trying to tell me you enjoyed our elevator bonding. It’s ok, you can be honest.”

She leans back in her chair, smug expression firmly in place.

“By bonding I assume you’re referring to your thinly veiled attempt to get to know me through the medium of that ridiculous app,” Lexa drawls, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement. “Quite the _game_.”

Fuck, she’s more transparent than she thought. And Lexa’s a lot more direct than she thought. For once in her life she’s rendered speechless, sat gaping like a simpleton without a witty comeback or snarky comment in sight.

 “Anyway you’re half right,” Lexa continues when it becomes clear she won’t get an intelligible response out of Clarke. “I did have an ulterior motive for inviting you in here. I mean obviously I wanted to thank you but there is something else.”

Interesting, Clarke thinks. Then a second later she stops thinking altogether as Lexa leans across the desk to reach a stack of paperwork.

At this angle Clarke’s got the prefect view straight down Lexa’s shirt with its top two buttons liberally undone. When she catches a glimpse of perfectly shaped breasts encased in baby blue lace her brain pretty much short circuits.

As much as she’d like to admire this delicious view further, the fear of getting caught is very real and she’s not sure how she’d explain her leering. With effort she tears her gaze away and stares at the polished veneer of the desk, eyes determinedly focused on the knots in the wood. Except now she’s having some very sinful thoughts about the desk. The most prominent of which happens to be Lexa roughly hoisting her on top of it and-

“I was wondering if you were free next Saturday evening?” Lexa asks, rifling through the stack of paper.

Clarke’s not sure she’s heard correctly. Maybe if she stopped staring at Lexa’s lips when she was talking, she’d be able to concentrate on the words coming out of her mouth.

“Sorry what?”

“Next Saturday. 7pm. Are you busy?”

“No, I don’t have plans.” Clarke says slowly. “Why? What for?”

“For dinner.”

The world stops turning.

 “For dinner?” Clarke echoes disbelievingly. “With you?”

 “Yes,” Lexa says, finally looking up at her. “Polaris is hosting their annual Business Dinner next Saturday. It’s basically a networking event and a fundraiser rolled into one.”

Oh, _not_ a date, Clarke thinks as Lexa slides the invitation across the desk. She can’t really take in the words due to the fact she’s still reeling over the thought of Lexa asking her out on an actual date. She’s such an idiot....though maybe she can use this misunderstanding as an opportunity to flirt further.

“It’ll be the usual rigmarole,” Lexa drawls disinterestedly. “Drinks, dinner, speeches. Honestly it’s pretty tedious but I thought you might like the opportunity to attend.”

“Sure,” Clarke smirks, tilting her head to ensure maximum eye contact. “I’ll be your date. You picking me up or shall I meet you there?”

She lets the implication hang in the air. When the realisation spreads across Lexa’s features its almost laughable. _Almost._

_“_ Pick you up _?_ Oh. _Oh..._ god, no that’s not what I meant,” Lexa splutters, blushing violently. “I mean I see how it could have sounded like that but I would never...not that you’re not beaut- uh date material. It’s just that it would be highly unprofessional and-”

Clarke decides to jump in because poor Lexa looks as though she’s going to give herself an aneurism. 

“Lexa, I’m messing with you,” Clarke deadpans. Lexa visibly relaxes. “Of course I’ll go to your boring fundraiser with you. Though why are you asking _me_? Is Anya busy presiding over Hades that evening or something?” she tacks on, cocking an eyebrow.

Lexa nods. “Or something. She’s actually headed to a conference in Fresno. With you playing such a vital role in the bid process I thought you might find it beneficial.”

“Ouch,” Clarke chuckles. “So I’m your _second_ choice? Wow, you sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

Her flirty joke half works because Lexa smiles though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She longs for the real Lexa she’d talked with in the elevator – the one who hadn’t been afraid to flirt back and laugh with abandon. She’s seen snippets of her today but she gets the distinct impression Lexa is holding back.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to discuss this more next week, Clarke,” Lexa says, straightening in her chair. Suddenly she’s all business again. “I just wanted to give you a heads up because I won’t be around much this week.”

“Are you going somewhere?” Clarke frowns.

She wishes she could ignore the disappointment peppering her own voice but the thought of a week without seeing Lexa is just that: disappointing.

Lexa shakes her head. “I’ll be in the building. I just have a lot of meetings with legal and finance to smooth out potential issues in our campaign. I’ll still be contactable my email though. Strictly for professional purposes, of course,” she tacks on with a wry smile.

Ah, there’s the Lexa she knows and lov- likes.

“Ok,” Clarke says, getting up from her seat. “I’d better get back to work anyway, my boss is a real slave driver,” she adds as she turns to leave.

“Really? I hear she’s brilliant,” Lexa calls after her.

Clarke pauses at the door and casts a look over her shoulder that’s borderline seductive. “She is.”

Then she winks. She actually fucking winks.

There’s just time to savour the look of pleasant surprise on Lexa’s face before she exits the room. As she walks back to her desk she wonders how they’ve reached this weird limbo where they like each other but won’t do anything about it.

In fairness the _doing_ isn’t Clarke’s issue. She’s going to make her move. It has to be at the right time and Lexa’s office on Monday morning isn’t it. Though maybe the Fundraiser is. She needs advice. She needs Raven and Octavia.

 

 

The cafeteria is just as busy as always. Thankfully today is one of the days Clarke has managed to take her break with Raven and Octavia. She could wait until she gets home to tell them about the Lexa conundrum but it simply can’t wait. She’s too excited. Or is it too nervous? Both. It’s both.

 “I need to tell you guys something,” Clarke whispers, glancing over her shoulder to check the coast is clear. “Something important.”

When she looks back to her friends there’s no change in their behaviour. Raven continues to shovel mac and cheese into her mouth like it’s going out of fashion and Octavia doesn’t bother to look up from her phone. Wow, rude.

“Are you listening to me?” Clarke hisses, not bothering to mask her irritation. “I’m trying to tell you something here and-”

“Is this the part where you _finally_ admit that you’ve got it bad for Lexa?” Octavia drawls, still staring at her phone. “Because we told you we already worked this out. Spare us the big gay revelation.”

“What she said,” Raven tacks on.

Clarke blinks in surprise because even though they _did_ tease her about it last week, they’d both let the matter drop pretty quickly when she’d denied it. Why had that not registered as suspicious? She should have known better because looking at them now, as they try and fail not to grin into their lunches, it’s obvious. They were waiting for her to confess. She’s played right into their hands. The level of smugness radiating from the other side of the table is palpable.

“Ok fine,” Clarke admits sourly. “You two were right all along. I have the world’s most inappropriate crush on my boss. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes,” Raven says, grinning as she looks up from her plate. “Tell me again how right I was. I want to savour this moment.”

Clarke scowls.

“Glad you finally admitted to your feelings, Clarke. Better late than never, right?” Octavia teases as Clarke rolls her eyes. “Can I ask you something though?”

Clarke nods, taking a sip of her soda. She just wants whatever they’ve got planned to stop so she can ask for some advice.

“Did you guys bang in the elevator?”

Clarke inhales most of the soda into her lungs. “What?!”

The people at the next table turn to gawk at the sudden outburst. She throws an apologetic look in their general direction before she turns back around to fix Octavia with the most foreboding scowl she can muster.

“It’s a simple question, Griffin,” Raven chimes in, waving her fork at Clarke. “Answer the lady.”

“No I did not _bang_ her in the elevator,” Clarke hisses lowly. “Are you two out of your fucking minds? And who even says ‘bang’, its-”

“Ha! Pay up, Reyes!” Octavia declares triumphantly.

Clarke looks on with a furrowed brow as Raven mutters something unintelligible and shoves her hands into her pockets. What’s happening doesn’t dawn on her until Raven pulls out a crumpled $20 bill and tosses it to Octavia.

“Hold the fuck up,” Clarke says. “Did you guys have a bet on whether I would sleep with Lexa? Seriously?!”

Both of them nod. They’re fucking shameless.

“For the record, _I_ believed in you, Griffin,” Raven says, her tone sincere. “I totally thought you guys would give in to your lust and get it on.”

Clarke doesn’t appreciate the sentiment. She’s about to tell Raven as such with a few choice words when Octavia cuts her off.

“I knew you wouldn’t, Clarke. You haven’t got it in you to just hook up with Lexa on a whim,” Octavia muses. “Speak of the devil.”

Clarke follows Octavia’s gaze to see Lexa entering the cafeteria with Anya in tow. Lexa throws her a warm smile when she sees her and Clarke immediately looks away, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. She turns back to Octavia with a glare.

 “I hook up with plenty of people,” Clarke counters defensively. “Tons. I hooked up with that guy in the alley behind The Dropship once.”

“And we’re all _immensely_ proud of you for that,” Raven drawls with a smirk. “But I think what O is trying to say is that this is different. I don’t think you’d be satisfied with a quickie because it’s not just about sex. You genuinely like Lexa on a personal level.”

Clarke maintains her scowl because she doesn’t want to admit to that. If she tries, she can convince herself this thing with Lexa _is_ just about sex. It’s easier that way.

“Are you done analysing me, Dr Phil?” Clarke scathes. “Can I talk to you guys seriously now?”

Both of them adopt apologetic expressions and Clarke takes that as her cue to launch into a complete rundown of her earlier meeting with Lexa. What she really wants from her friends is a simple answer. Should she make her move at the Fundraiser?

“Honestly, Clarke, I don’t know,” Octavia frowns.

Raven shrugs. “I don’t know either.”

“You’re kidding,” Clarke deadpans. “For all your theories and teasing you have _nothing_? You guys are the worst.”

“Look Clarke, I’m all for you getting laid but remember she’s your boss. You have to be 100% sure you’re both on the same page before you do anything with Lexa,” Octavia reasons. “If that’s the case, go for it at the Fundraiser.”

Clarke sighs heavily. This is information she already knows. “I’m gonna head back up to the office,” she says, getting to her feet. “Try not to make any more bets on who I will and won’t fuck, ok?”

She drops her tray off at the cleaning station and exits the cafeteria without so much as a backwards glance. She never hears the following exchange between her two best friends.

“Probably not a good idea to tell her I cut the power to the elevator, huh?”

“Probably not.”

 

 

 

Lexa POV

 

When Lexa walked into the office earlier that morning she had been in an exceptionally good mood. The double take Roma did as she walked past the reception desk, two coffees in hand, confirmed that all the signs of said good mood had reached her face. For the whole duration of the steady climb to 5th, she felt the muscles of her jaw aching pleasantly under the width of her smile.

And why was she is such an upbeat mood? Because Clarke Griffin likes her, of course.

Clarke, a woman who is as headstrong as she is brilliant, likes _her_. Clarke, who has proven to be equal parts charming and infuriating, likes _her_. Clarke, possibly the most beautiful woman she’s ever had the pleasure of laying her eyes upon, likes _her_.

Obviously there’s been no verbal confirmation of this, no admission of feelings or lust...but they’d almost kissed. Lexa’s certain of it. That’s all the evidence she needs to continue smiling like an idiot wherever she goes. It had been a thought that delighted her all weekend long - there was barely a moment when she found herself thinking of anything else.

 On the one hand kissing Clarke is something she very much wants. In fact there’s nothing she desires more than to feel those lips moving against her own as she weaves her hands deep into golden tresses. She silently wonders if Clarke’s lips are as soft as she imagines them to be. The thought of actually finding out sends a quiver of excitement through her. It’s a fantasy that’s tantalisingly close to fruition.

If only it weren’t for the inevitable drawback. And the drawback in this case is a very sour dose of reality.

As much as she’d like to make a move, Clarke is her employee and whilst inter-office relationships aren’t forbidden, they’re certainly not encouraged. Not least when the two people in question are boss and employee.

However with a little disassociation she’s able to ignore the negative aspects of her feelings towards Clarke for now. I’s probably not healthy but if she can’t indulge her imagination every once in a while then what’s the point of anything? It’s natural to desire things you can’t have. As much as she hates to be biblical, the phrase ‘forbidden fruit’ springs to mind.

And she is definitely asking for trouble inviting Clarke to the fundraiser next week. Clarke + Lexa x alcohol ÷ Nia Queen’s deplorable presence = ...well, she doesn’t know exactly but it’s sure to be an interesting combination. Honestly, where does she get these ideas?

She knows exactly where. Clarke’s flirting earlier this morning had made her all giddy headed so she’d tried to get her revenge by inviting her to the Fundraiser on a whim. She’d expected Clarke to try and worm her way out of it because no sane person wants to go to a company event in their spare time. The jokes on her though. Now she’ll have to sit next to Clarke at the event all night pretending she doesn’t want to kiss her. Its basically a form of self-inflicted touture.

Now as she sits in the cafeteria, resolutely ignoring the kale salad Anya had cajoled her into ordering in favouring of gazing at Clarke across the room, she’s definitely having some less than PG thoughts. Really, she should have known from the second she laid eyes on Clarke that it was going to end up like this. Don’t all the best crushes start with some sort of heated misunderstanding? It’s fucking textbook.

“Earth to Lexa Woods, are you there?”

Anya’s voice is like a knife slicing through her subconscious. She’d clearly been daydreaming again. She’s been doing that a lot lately. It’s so unlike her.

“What? I’m listening,” Lexa defends wholly unconvincingly.

“Then what did I just say?” Anya challenges.

Lexa shrugs. “Something about how everyone in your department is inept?” she guesses.

Anya frowns. “That was a lucky guess. It’s true though, they _are_ all inept. Do you know how long I spent training Echo on the new software last week? She literally...”

She doesn’t hear the rest of Anya’s rant because a couple of tables over, Clarke rising from her seat catches her attention. It’s hard not to stare at the swaying of hips because in a pencil skirt that tight the effect is pretty much hypnotic. Clarke certainly knows how to dress well.

Her eyes travel slowly upwards, taking in every impeccable dip and curve of Clarke’s body until she reaches her face. God, she truly is breathtaking. She silently wills Clarke to look up, hoping to catch a glimpse of that beautiful smile that makes her stomach do somersaults. It doesn’t happen because Anya’s fingers snapping just in front of her nose startles her back into reality.

“Seriously what is with you today?” Anya hisses. “Why have you got that stupid grin on your face? And what is it that you keep staring at? Is your crush that you definitely don’t have in here or something?” she teases.

Lexa prides herself on her ability to retain a poker face in any and all situations. It’s a talent that’s helped her in many a board meeting or negotiation. In this moment though, it deserts her. The lazy smirk that spreads across Anya’s face tells her as much.

“Oh my God. I was totally kidding but she _is_ in here isn’t she?” Anya declares, pointing her finger accusingly. “Who is it?”

Oh fuck.

“No!” Lexa defends a little too quickly. “Don’t be ridiculous, I- Anya!”

Lexa’s heart jumps into her throat when Anya swivels around in her chair to peer in the direction of Clarke’s table. Luckily Clarke seems to have disappeared from sight which is nothing short of miraculous. If Anya somehow guessed correctly she’s not sure how convincing her denial would be in the face of confrontation. Only Raven and Octavia still remain at the table.

“Oh this is worse than I thought,” Anya says, turning back with a grim expression. Lexa’s heart thunders in her chest. “It’s Reyes isn’t it?”

Lexa’s instinct is to breathe a huge sigh of relief but she manages to suppress it. Anya’s way off.

They might be best friends but she doesn’t want to admit to these inappropriate feelings. Not yet. The amount of shit she’d get for having a crush on someone who works directly beneath her isn’t worth it. The fact that the object of her affections is Clarke, the woman she'd complained about to Anya just a few short weeks ago, would be the bitter cherry atop a mockery cake.

“Anya, it’s not Raven. I told you-”

“Don’t worry about it, your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone. Besides Reyes is pretty attractive if you factor out how annoying she is.”

“Anya, I don’t like-”

“Though honestly, you couldn’t have picked a worse target for your affections. If you try anything with her then the little one - the Blake girl- is likely to attack you in the copier room. I mean those two _obviously_ have some undeclared sexual tension simmering away.”

She makes a mental note to tell Clarke about that comment at a later date. It would appear that everyone can see the attraction between Raven and Octavia except themselves.

Lexa shakes her head. “You’re wrong.”

“Don’t be ashamed because I caught you out, Woods. I can read you like a book. You think that just because you walk around like-”

“I said it isn’t Raven!” Lexa snaps, shooting Anya her best glare. “Seriously. Can we please just drop this childish rhetoric now? This isn’t Middle School.”

Anya smirks one last time then holds her hands up in surrender. “Fine. You say it isn't Reyes then I'll believe you. I’ll let this go for now but I promise you I’ll work out who you’re harbouring that lady boner for one way or another. You're doing a very bad job of hiding it.”

Lexa spares her one last scowl before they go back to eating their lunches in silence.

That was far too close of a call. She’s grateful for the quiet between them to collect her thoughts and wills herself not to be lulled into another daydream about a certain blonde. The silence, as usual, doesn’t last long.

“So I was wondering if you were busy this weekend?” Anya asks, setting her fork down.

Lexa chews thoughtfully. “Not really. I have some errands to run on Saturday morning but nothing major. Why?”

“Oh because I wanted you to accompany me to Ikea. I was thinking of getting a new bookshelf and I need a second opinion on what sort of style will suit my living room.”

“Sure. I know you’ve gone for a more modern look but I really think something in antique pine would...what?” Lexa pauses. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Anya’s staring at her with a completely dead-eyed expression. “Are you familiar with sarcasm?” she scathes. “Obviously I don’t want to go on some dull lesbian excursion with you for new furniture. I want to go out drinking!”

Lexa sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. Ever since she arrived in LA, Anya has been harassing her into sampling the nightlife. So far she’s successfully managed to avoid it. But Anya Forrester has two things in abundance: persistence and persuasion. That’s how she knows it’s only a matter of time before she eventually caves, lets Anya get her way and throws herself at the mercy of the city’s bars and clubs.

“That’s not the face of a person about to say yes,” Anya intones.

“Anya, we’ve been through this” Lexa half-groans. “The whole club scene really isn’t my thing. You know that.”

“Fine, we won’t go to clubs, just bars. There’s my compromise,” Anya offers. Lexa’s expression remains unchanged. “Come on, Lex. There’s no reason not to. You deserve it. And seriously, between all the work and not getting laid you’ve become really uppity. Let me at least buy you a couple of beers to relax.”

Lexa glowers skeptically. “You know insulting me probably isn’t advisable.”

Anya maintains her hopeful expression and she finally relents.

“Fine,” Lexa sighs. “A couple of bars but no clubs.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Yes!” Anya cries, slapping her palm against the table and causing several of their surrounding colleagues to jump. “This is gonna be great! I’m on the rebound, you’re painfully single...LA is our oyster.”

Lexa tries not to take offence at that comment. Six months isn’t _that_ long, she’s been through longer dry spells before. Plus she’s not particularly interested in finding someone to take home for the night. Unless perhaps that person happened to have blonde hair, blue eyes and a wickedly dry sense of humour. Not that that is likely to happen outside the confines of her imagination. Clarke is off limits. She really needs to accept that. The sooner she does, the sooner she can get over this crush. That's assuming she _wants_ to get over it.

“Well my break is over so I’m heading back to 2nd,” Anya says, getting to her feet. “We’ll iron out the details later in the week. Honestly, Lex, you won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m sure,” Lexa deadpans. “One more thing though – no tequila. Not after last time,” she warns.

“Deal,” Anya smirks before walking away.

Lexa slumps back in her seat and lets out a heavy sigh. Just what has she let herself in for?

 

 

 

 

There’s tequila, of course. There’s always tequila.

It begins when Anya arrives at her apartment with a bottle of El Jimador in hand and a wry smile on her lips. Clearly this is how it’s going to be so she doesn’t protest when the shot glass is placed in front of her. She barely even grimaces when she clinks her glass and throws the liquid back in one fluid motion.

Despite all her misgivings and grumbling, a night out is probably just what she needs right now. Its been a long week of meetings and progress reports. If she has to look at another spreadsheet or cost analysis her brain may actually explode.

That's why she doesn't bother to argue when Anya rifles through her wardrobe and hands her a little black dress with a hemline bordering on the wrong side of decent. Even if she doesn't feel great at least she can look good. It’s been far too long since she’s been able to just let her hair down and unwind. Though that’s not to say she’s going to get too wild even if Anya is trying to ply her with an obscene amount of alcohol.

They start out in West Hollywood, perched on some bar stools at some fancy cocktail bar that Anya had declared did ‘the best fucking mojitos, I swear to God, Lexa.’

 Overall she’s left pretty underwhelmed by the experience. The cocktails _are_ good but there’s an air of pretentiousness to the whole place that makes her uneasy. It could be the complete overuse of mason jars as light fitting, drinking glasses and vases or it could be the abundance of bartenders sporting handlebar moustaches. Either way, she doesn’t like it.

Plus the few women she’s caught checking her out are not being subtle at all with their leering. She feels like she’s sat on a display counter rather than a barstool. Besides none of them can hold a candle to Clarke.

God, she _really_ has to stop thinking about Clarke.

“You don’t look like you’re having a good time,” Anya observes over the top of her glass.

“I am,” Lexa protests with a forced smile. “Really, I am. This is great.”

It isn’t.

“Then could you maybe let your face know?” Anya teases. “Because you look like a kicked puppy. It’s cute but I don’t think it’s exactly screaming ‘take me home and show me a good time.”

“I don’t want anyone to take me home,” Lexa mumbles, swirling the ice cubs in her glass with a straw. “I thought tonight was about us having fun, not seeing who could get laid the quickest?”

“It is,” Anya confirms. “But the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Lexa frowns into her drink.

“Come on, Lex, I’m just messing with you,” Anya says, giving her shoulder a light shove. “Let’s have another drink and then move on to somewhere a little less...sophisticated. Somewhere we can consume vast amounts of cheap alcohol and dance our asses off to questionable 80s rock music.”

Lexa looks up from her drink. The cheap alcohol doesn’t particularly appeal but she has, on occasion, been known to dance. Plus she’s a total sucker for a power ballad.

“So a dive bar?” Lexa confirms, lips quirking in amusement. “I’m surprised you even know any dive bars. Isn’t that beneath you ‘Miss I graduated top of my class at Harvard?”

Anya rolls her eyes. “Ok, so I may not have been there myself but I heard some of the accounts team talking about it. Sounds like it’d be a good time.”

“Because no one knows how to party like accountants,” Lexa drawls.

“Ok, one, please don’t use ‘party’ as a verb ever again,” Anya scolds. Lexa flips her off. “And two, yeah they do. You didn’t see them at the last Christmas party. Nathan Miller has some serious moves. They’re total dark horses the lot of them.”

Maybe it’s the amount of alcohol in her system making her susceptible to Anya’s suggestions, or maybe it’s because she loathes this particular bar, but she decides to go along with it. They’re out now after all. She might as well try to enjoy herself and it certainly isn’t happening here.

“Alright fine, I’m convinced,” Lexa shrugs, downing the last of her drink. “Let’s give your dive bar a shot. I assume you know where it is?”

“Somewhere over on Washington. I can’t remember the name. Maybe The Old Ship? The Abandoned Ship? Something to do with a ship anyway. We’ll find it.”

So that’s how they find themselves in a cab after their fifth or sixth drink of the evening (honestly who is counting?) speeding towards Washington Boulevard.

As Anya drunkenly directs the cab driver, Lexa can’t help but fixate on the name of the bar. The Old Ship? It sounds vaguely familiar but in her tequila fogged mind, she can’t think why. She’s never been to any dive bars in LA, certainly none over on Washington. Whatever, it’s probably nothing. Probably just something she heard in passing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - please let me know if you liked it.  
> I'm sure you all know where this is heading ;)  
> I will try my best to get part 2 finished by the weekend. If I don't manage that it'll be sometime next week as I'm going to a con on Saturday to meet Lindsey Morgan, Dichen Lachman and Nadia Hilker :D  
> Pray for my gay heart!


	11. Tequila is the Devil Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mixed POV  
> Things finally heat up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'll start by saying thank you as I always do - your kudos, comments and messages are so encouraging.  
> I apologise for uploading later than I promised but I went to Survival Con and got zero writing done. However I can confirm that Lindsey, Nadia and Dichen, Rhiannon and Tasya are literal angels.  
> Hopefully this chapter will makeup for the wait - its the longest I've written for any of my fics.  
> Enjoy!

Lexa POV

 

As soon as the cab stops, Anya throws open the door and grumbles impatiently for her to get a move on. She just about has time to throw a $20 and an apologetic smile to the driver before she’s pulled from the vehicle into the street. Her feet barely hit the ground before Anya’s tugging her through the entrance of some bar.

Immediately she’s hit with the pungent smell of stale beer and the lingering scent of cigarette smoke. Yep, this is a dive bar alright. A popular one by the looks of things. It’s packed full of patrons ranging from groups of nervous looking college kids to grizzled older men in leathers.

She feels so much more at ease in here than she had in the pretentious cocktail lounge. No one in here is going to sneer condescendingly if she wants to order a pitcher of watered down beer and stick Journey on the jukebox. They’d probably welcome it with open arms.

“I spotted an empty booth,” Anya shouts, gesturing to the corner. “I’ll grab it, you get the drinks.”

Lexa nods and makes a beeline for the bar, weaving her way through the crowd with precision until she reaches the counter. There’s two bartenders serving tonight and it’s not long before she manages to flag down one of them. Unfortunately it’s not the attractive brunette with somewhat unruly hair but a guy with a hooked nose and a scowl that could turn milk sour.

“What’ll it be, sweetheart?” he asks with no enthusiasm whatsoever.

Lexa’s expression darkens at the casual sexism but she decides not to tear this guy a new one. He can’t possibly comprehend the level of snark she’d lay down on him were she not pleasantly buzzed already.

“Pitcher of Bud and two glasses.”

The bartender grunts in acknowledgement before turning away.

Anya will probably bitch at her for ordering such an average beer but she doesn’t care. She’s out to get drunk and forget about her responsibilities, not trying to impress anyone with her choices. Besides, Anya doesn’t need any more hard liquor right now. Those five or six cocktails seem to have gone straight to her head.

It happens whilst she’s minding her own business, drumming her fingers on the counter as she waits for her drinks. Her gaze falls on one of the beer mats littered along the top of the bar which tells her she’s at ‘The Dropship.’

 The niggling feeling returns because _where_ does she know that name from? Whilst she’s wracking her brain for an answer, she feels a tap on her shoulder and freezes. Whoever thinks it’s acceptable to lay a hand on her without permission is sorely mistaken. Especially if it’s some guy trying to sweet talk her.

She spins around, jaw set and a million devastating insults on the tip of her tongue. Only when she turns, it’s not the drunken douchebag she’d been expecting. Instead she finds herself face to face with captivating blue eyes, golden hair and a breathtaking smile.

Clarke.

“You came!” Clarke cries, eyes lighting up.

Before Lexa can process what’s happening, Clarke’s pulling her into a very zealous embrace. She lets her body go slack, her head finding its way into the crook of Clarke’s neck. A heady concoction of alcohol, perfume and something else altogether sweet makes her head spin. The urge to close her eyes, nuzzle into Clarke’s hair and inhale deeply is almost too tempting.

 Instead she somehow finds it within herself to awkwardly pat Clarke on the back and pull away, putting an appropriate amount of space between them.

“I thought it was you from across the bar but I didn’t think you’d change your mind!” Clarke says, still grinning. “I’m glad you did.”

Lexa smiles nervously. “I uh- no. I didn’t actually realise that-”

“No fucking way,” Raven exclaims, appearing beside Clarke. “Of all the gin joints in all the world...Commander hotstuff is in _my_ bar? Yes! This night just went from a seven to a solid ten.”

Commander _what_?

“What did you just call me?” Lexa blurts out.

Raven’s response is a slow, deliberate smirk and a sideways glance at Clarke which is less than subtle. Lexa’s eyes flit to Clarke whose mortified expression is only made worse by her rapidly pinking cheeks. She raises an eyebrow in question, wordlessly daring Clarke to provide an explanation.

The return of the bartender as he slams down the pitcher, sloshing liquid over the counter top is enough to break the tension.

“I think you’ll find this is _my_ bar Reyes,” the barman drawls lazily. “You’re lucky I still let you in here after the shit you pulled the other week.”

“Shut up, Murphy,” Raven scoffs. “Not my fault those guys sucked at pool.”

“You hustled them,” Murphy deadpans.

“So they sucked at pool and were stupid to boot. It was an unfortunate combination. Besides we pretty much keep this place running,” Raven counters, jerking her thumb at Clarke.

“Running it into the ground, more like.”

“Whatever, _John_.  We’ll take the usual. Be a babe and put it on my tab.”

“It’s only a tab if you pay it,” Murphy grumbles but nevertheless complies.

Lexa watches the exchange distractedly, acutely aware of Clarke’s eyes on her the entire time. She keeps her own eyes glued on the bar and remains silent, not trusting herself to start a conversation with the woman she’s been unable to get out of her head all week.

This is so fucking surreal. At least now she knows why the name of the bar had sounded so familiar. Clarke had invited her for Monty’s birthday which means the rest of her friends can’t be far away.

As if on cue Monty stumbles through the crowd, very nearly tripping over his own feet a couple of times.

“Hey guys, we should totally get some jagerbombs. I’m the birthday boy and I say we- oh...commander,” Monty slurs, swaying on the spot and giving her a salute.

Lexa kind of wants the ground to swallow her whole when Clarke and Raven erupt into fits of laughter. Dear fucking Christ. Will she ever ditch that nickname? Oh well, she might as well join in this ridiculousness and humour Monty’s obvious inebriation.

“At ease soldier,” Lexa says seriously. She smiles a second later. “And happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” Monty says, grinning lopsidedly. “Glad you could make it. Clarke said you weren’t going to come. She’s silly isn’t she?”

Lexa nods, catching Clarke’s eye. “She certainly is.”

The faux-scandalised look Clarke throws her before she grins, tongue between her teeth, a second later has the butterflies in her stomach rioting.

“But we like her anyway,” Monty declares, planting a kiss on Clarke’s cheek. “I’m gonna go find Jasper now.”

Monty grins and heads off into the crowd in search of whoever Jasper might be. She can’t help but wonder if he’ll make it to midnight as he drunkenly stumbles into a group of chairs en route.

 Whilst Raven disappears down the other end of the bar, undoubtedly to hurl more insults at Murphy, Lexa catches Clarke’s eye again and receives another dazzling smile. It’s one she can’t help but return with enthusiasm, feeling her cheeks ache pleasantly. It’s only then that she notices Clarke’s attire because believe it or not, she’d been too mesmerised by her mere presence to take it in before now.

It’s a knockout combination; a low cut red top and a pair of denim hotpants that give way to toned thighs. She wonders how for someone who isn’t especially tall, Clarke’s legs seem to go on forever. It defies logic.

In fact this whole outfit should come with some sort of warning because the thoughts she’s having admiring Clarke’s body surpass friendly. She tears her gaze away from smooth legs only to find her eyes settling on a distractingly ample cleavage. In the end, the ground becomes the safest place to look.

“So how come you changed your mind?” Clarke asks, leaning against the bar. “I thought mixing with your staff outside of work was inappropriate?” she teases.

“Would you believe I ended up here by accident?” Lexa counters, smiling wryly. “This was actually all Anya’s idea. I didn’t even know where we were going. ”

“Uh huh, sure. And where’s Anya now?” Clarke asks sweetly, leaning in a little closer.

“She’s in one of the booths,” Lexa says, turning to point her out. “Right over...”

Except Anya’s no longer in the booth. Lexa can’t see her anywhere. Great, now it looks like she made that up on the spot. God, why are her palms so sweaty?

The lazy smirk that crosses Clarke’s face almost looks victorious. “You know you don’t have to make excuses? We’re not at work now, Lexa. You can just admit that you wanted to see me.”

Clarke winks and steps forward. A second later Lexa feels delicate fingertips trail lightly down her forearm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She looks down at her arm and then back to Clarke who’s now staring directly at her lips. Whatever clever comeback she had in mind dies on her tongue as her brain goes into complete meltdown.

Clarke’s flirting with her. Clarke’s flirting with her and she’s being _really_ fucking obvious about it.

Ok, stay calm, she thinks, giving herself a mental pep-talk. You know the drill. She’s your employee, you’re her boss. Do _not_ engage.  Just don’t say anything stupid and you’ll be fine. For the love of god don’t flirt back. Repeat, _do not engage_.

Lexa shrugs, lips curving into a smirk. “Maybe I did.”

You idiot. You had one job. _One!_

There’s just time to catch the blush on Clarke’s cheeks before she ducks her head down. Lexa feels a burst of satisfaction knowing she’s essentially one-upped the woman who flirts without regard for the consequences. She’ll take her medal now, thank you very much.

Her triumph is short lived when Clarke looks up from beneath long eyelashes, bites her lower lip and tilts her head to the side. _Jesus fucking Christ_ , is the only coherent thought she has as she forcibly swallows the lump that’s formed in her throat.

Clarke holds her gaze unabashedly. This silent battle of wills, daring each other to see who will cross the line first, is veering them into dangerous territory. If Clarke doesn’t stop looking at her like _that_ then there’s no telling what will happen.

  _Diffuse the situation, Woods._

Lexa clears her throat. “So who else are you here with?”

Clarke’s eyes flash briefly with what could be disappointment before she’s smiling brightly again. “Just a couple more friends. Monty’s birthday is kind of serving double purpose as a reunion because we-”

“Princess!”

Clarke lets out a squeak of surprise as two muscular arms wrap around her waist from behind and hoist her from the ground. Lexa cranes her head to see a tall man with dark shaggy hair and a smattering of freckles grinning as he spins a squealing Clarke in his arms. She locks her jaw, ready to step forward and deliver a swift sucker punch to Clarke’s assailant when she notices the blonde is laughing as she squirms to get away.

“Bell, put me down!” Clarke shrieks, grinning as she bats his hands away. “Oh my god you’re so embarrassing.”

“Aww I’m just happy to see you,” the man, or ‘Bell,’ says as he sets Clarke down. “Admit it, you missed me too”

“Yeah, like a hole in the head,” Clarke deadpans. She smiles a second later. “Just kidding. C’mere you idiot.”

Lexa can only frown as Clarke throws her arms around his shoulders and pulls him into a crushing hug. Her frown deepens when she catches sight of the guy’s blissful expression. She feels even worse when he catches her eye over Clarke’s shoulder and throws her a friendly smile.

She scolds herself because there’s no good reason to instantly dislike him. Watching Clarke hug someone who’s probably just a friend shouldn’t make her feel this surge of jealousy. But it does.

Maybe they’re more than friends, though. Clarke never mentioned she had a boyfriend but then she hasn’t explicitly stated that she’s single either. She’s a fool for assuming...but would Clarke have flirted so brazenly if she’s dating someone else? She doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who would-

“Who’s your friend, Clarke?”

Clarke takes a step back, her grin widening further as she remembers Lexa’s presence. “Sorry I got kinda caught up in the hug for introductions,” she shrugs apologetically. “Bell this is Lexa Woods, she works with O, Raven and me at Trikru.”

There’s a split second where she wonders why Clarke hasn’t introduced her as her boss. The action strikes her as odd but in a good way. It’s a little bit of a reach but she’s optimistic enough to hope that maybe Clarke is starting to view them as more than two people who work together. Or rather one who works for the other.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Bellamy Blake, but you can call me Bell. Everyone else does,” Bellamy says, reaching forward to shake her hand.

Lexa shakes back, perhaps a little harder than necessary. Then his words click. “Blake?” she repeats. “Are you related to Octavia?”

Bellamy’s face lights up instantly. “Yeah, she’s my sister. Have you seen her yet tonight?” Lexa shakes her head. “Ah, well we did a little pre-gaming at our apartment,” he chuckles. “So fair warning that after a few drinks she’s a total pain in the as-”

“I hope you’re not telling lies about me,” Octavia pouts, appearing out of nowhere to give her brother a playful shove. “Don’t try and sully my good name in front of my boss. Hi Lexa, by the way,” she greets.

Lexa smiles back politely, growing more uncomfortable by the second. There’s a good reason she declined the offer of a night out with Clarke and her friends. The boundaries of professionalism are blurring.

Bellamy frowns. “Wait a second. You’re Lexa? _The_ Lexa? As in their _boss_ Lexa?” he asks disbelievingly.

“Correct,” Lexa says dryly.

She’s got a bad feeling about where this conversation is heading. Clarke seems to be of the same opinion as she adopts a vaguely panicked expression.

“We’ve established she’s Lexa. Something wrong with your hearing, big brother?” Octavia teases.

Bellamy runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just I didn’t expect to see you here tonight because Clarke said that her boss was-ouch!”

She never gets to find out what Clarke said when Bellamy stumbles forward as though pushed. A second later he scowls as Raven sidesteps around him carrying an armful of drinks.

“What the hell, Reyes?”

“Sorry, didn’t see you there. Clumsy me.”

“You didn’t see me?! I’m 6’2. Are you blind?”

“Hey! Don’t sass the girl with mobility issues. I’ll still kick your ass with one dud leg, Blake.”

Lexa watches the interaction before her and wonders whether people seemingly appearing out of thin air is going to be a recurring theme tonight. Maybe if she closes her eyes, clicks her heels and says ‘Katie McGrath’ three times she’ll magically appear. Wouldn’t that be a superpower worth having?

It’s clearly not a power she possesses because she definitely hadn’t been trying to summon the next person who enters the fold.

“Lexa are you brewing the beer yourself or something?” Anya scathes, appearing with impeccably horrible timing. “I mean how long does it take to-”

She doesn’t need to turn and look at Anya to know the exact expression on her face but she does anyway. She’s right. It’s a scowl that says ‘what the fuck is this’ and in the past has reduced more than a few interns to tears.

The awkward hush that falls over the group as is almost unbearable as Clarke and her friends gawk at the pair of them. It would be comical if it weren’t so uncomfortable. Why for the love of god is nobody saying anything? Why isn’t she saying anything? _Anything_ would be better than this roaring silence.

“Forrester! Isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” Raven declares. “If I’d have known you were joining us I’d have had Murphy bring out the champagne. And may I say you look absolutely stunning this evening,” she tacks on with a wink.

Ok, anything but _that_.

Does Raven have a death wish? Lexa thinks so for two very good reasons. The first is for the way Octavia’s eyes narrow and her jaw ticks at Raven’s brazen compliment. The younger Blake looks dangerously close to leaping across the space between them and launching herself at Anya.

The second, far more alarming reason, is for the way Anya’s lips curl into a sneer. It’s not a good idea to goad Anya at the best of times. Testing her patience when she’s got alcohol in her system is akin to kicking a hornet’s nest.

“Thank you, Reyes,” Anya says sweetly. “That’s very kind of you.”

Well...that’s unexpected.

No one looks more stunned by the reaction than Raven herself. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe tipsy Anya has more of an inclination to socialise than-

“But just so we’re crystal clear, know that it will be a cold day in hell before I entertain the idea of socialising with my subordinates.”

Ah, there it is.

“Lexa, a word please.”

Anya stalks off, tugging her by the arm. Lexa casts an apologetic glance to the group over her shoulder, eyes lingering on Clarke. She pauses, mouth opening as if to speak before closing it again. She reluctantly allows herself to be led away by a quietly seething Anya.

“What are you doing?” Anya hisses, rounding on her. “Drinking with your employees? Are you out of your mind, Lexa?”

Lexa sighs. “Anya, I-”

“Did you bring us here because of Reyes?” Anya presses, eyes narrowing. “Because whatever you want to do is your business but don’t involve me in-”

“Anya, _you_ brought us here,” Lexa says exasperatedly. “Remember? I didn’t even know where we were going.”

Anya blinks. “Oh. Right. Yes. Yes I did.”

 Lexa allows herself to smirk when the faintest blush creeps across her best friend’s cheeks. It’s so rare and oddly satisfying to see Anya lose composure. Mere seconds later the trademark scowl is back with a vengeance.

“I don’t know what you’re smiling about,” Anya snaps, crossing her arms. “You can’t go around pounding tequila slammers with your employees. There has to be boundaries unless you want your little crush and her friends telling everyone at the office what a sloppy drunk you are.”

Lexa rolls her eyes. “No one was ‘pounding tequila,’ I was just saying hello. And will you drop the Raven thing? I told you I don’t like her like that, ok? Honestly.”

Anya’s expression softens slightly. “Good. Because I wasn’t joking about Blake shivving you in the copier room if you make a move. She’s so obvious with her pining it’s embarrassing.”

“I didn’t know you had such a keen interest in office romances,” Lexa teases. Anya’s jaw clenches in warning. “I’m joking. Look, I’m going to pick up our drinks and politely decline their invitation. I’ll join you in the booth in a minute and we can just go about our night, ok?”

Anya’s response is nothing more than a parting grunt as she walks back over to the now occupied booth. A simple jerk of her head has the three college guys sat there scattering in a matter of seconds.

Lexa chuckles quietly to herself and turns back towards the bar. Relief washing over her when she sees Clarke standing there alone. Honestly, she’d been feeling a little reprehensible about having to explain _that_ situation to all of them.

“Hey,” Clarke greets. “All good?”

Lexa nods. “Yeah. Sorry about all that,” she says, gesturing vaguely. “Anya can be a little...”

“Intense?” Clarke supplies.

“You could say that,” Lexa muses, tapping her chin in faux contemplation. “You could have also gone with intimidating or officious for the triple word score.”

When Clarke throws her head back and laughs, Lexa thinks it might be her favourite sound in the world. It’s a thought that startles her because when did she become so enamoured with this girl? That damn tongue between the teeth smile is going to be the death of her.

“Why am I not surprised to learn you’d be into scrabble?” Clarke teases. “I knew you were a nerd.”

Lexa shrugs. “We are what we are.”

Clarke hums in agreement. “Well I’d better get back to my group of delinquents,” she says, swinging her arms by her sides. “You know you’re welcome to come and sit with us. I mean...if you want to, that is?”

Lexa chews on her lower lip. She’d like to tell Clarke that she very much wants to but sadly it’s not an option. Anya is unfortunately right about the boundaries between them. Maybe someday she can relax in a bar with Clarke whilst they talk about nothing and everything, but it’s not today. She can’t afford the damage to her reputation. Not when there’s so much at stake. Though when Clarke’s looking at her like that, eyes shining with hope, it makes turning her down so much harder.

“Maybe later,” Lexa finally says.

They both know it means no but Clarke tries to mask her disappointment with a smile that this time doesn’t meet her eyes.

“Cool. Well don’t let me keep you any longer. Have a great night, Lexa, you deserve a break.”

With a final sad smile, Clarke turns and disappears into the crowd. Lexa’s heart sinks as she watches her go, wishing things could be different.

She walks back to the bar, picks up the now slightly warm pitcher of beer and instructs Murphy to bring a round of shots over to the booth. Suddenly tequila slammers don’t seem like such a bad idea.

 

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

This is the absolute worst.

How has she, Lexa Woods, award-winning business woman and professional feelings-denier found herself in this situation? She’s in a bar, wearing a dress that’s too short, halfway to drunk and scowling across the room so hard her vision starts to blur.

The reason for the scowling is explainable at least. For the past hour she’s been stealing glances across the bar when Anya’s not looking. Each time she looks over at Clarke’s table the blonde seems to be engaged with Bellamy to one degree or another. For example, right now Clarke is pushing Bellamy’s hair back from his face as he smiles warmly back at her. It’s enough to make her stomach lurch.

She recognises the unpleasant sensation at once. Its jealousy. Plain and simple.

Only it’s not an emotion she’s used to dealing with which means the alcohol is going down a lot quicker than strictly recommended. There’s no satisfaction to be had in the way she refills her glass for the third time that hour.

“Hey slow down,” Anya says, slurring a little herself.

“I thought you said we were out to have a good time?” Lexa says sourly. She pauses to swallow a mouthful of beer. “I’m having a good time. The best.”

“Yeah but if you carry on like that you’re going to have a motherfucker of a hangover,” Anya counters, eyeing her glass pointedly. “And I’ll have no sympathy for you when you do.”

“How is that different to any other day?” Lexa mumbles.

For that she receives a light smack to the back of the head which she returns with a glare.

“Do you think the bartender’s hot?” Anya asks.

Lexa raises an eyebrow at the admission. “Really? That’s what you’re into now?”

 “Not the guy, you idiot,” Anya huffs. “The girl. The one with the cool hair and next-level eyebrows. She’s hot, right?”

Lexa shrugs. “I guess.”

“You guess?” Anya repeats incredulously. “Have you actually _seen_ her? Look at the bar right now but for the love of god, try to be subtle.”

She uses the opportunity to quickly scan the bar before her eyes fall on Clarke’s table once again. This time Clarke’s laughing at something Bellamy has said. The sight makes her chest ache.

 _She_ wants to be the one to make Clarke laugh like that. _She_ wants to be the one Clarke looks at with warmth and adoration. It’s not fair.

 Clarke must sense she’s being watched because she looks up a second later. Blue eyes meet green ones and her heart skips a beat. When Clarke waves she tears her gaze away, staring down into the bottom of her glass and willing her racing pulse to slow down.

“Lexa!” Anya snaps, slapping her palm against the table. “You haven’t heard a word I just said, have you?”

She doesn’t bother to respond, taking another sip of beer.

“Maybe if you stopped salivating over Clarke Griffin for more than two seconds you’d be able to concentrate better,” Anya says haughtily.

Lexa snorts the beer straight up her nose. The coughing and spluttering that follows as she tries to clear her airway is beyond undignified.

 “Oh that?” Anya breezes, looking particularly pleased with herself. “Yeah, I know about that. Have done for weeks.”

“But I-I wasn’t,” Lexa stammers, feeling her face burning with a traitorous blush. “I don’t-”

“You very much _do_.”

Lexa’s never felt so flustered in her life. She’s busted.

 “I mean y-you...what do you? Raven?”

This denial would be a whole lot more convincing if she could actually get a full sentence out of her mouth. It would also be a whole lot easier if Anya wasn’t grinning at her like she’s won the lottery.

“Reyes?” Anya scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Please, that was just to mess with you. I was curious as to whether you’d fess up about blondie. Though I’m kind of glad you didn’t because this whole jittery gay panic thing you’re doing right now is far more satisfying.”

That insult is enough to knock some sense back into her. “You’re full of shit,” Lexa counters, eyes narrowing. “This is ridiculous. You don’t know anything.”

“Oh but I do,” Anya teases, leaning in with a wry smile. “In fact, I probably knew you had a thing for Clarke before you worked it out yourself. Even if your frankly _obvious_ reaction wasn’t enough, I’ve had my suspicions since you asked me about her on day one. You’re such a useless lesbian.”

Lexa doesn’t have it within herself to deny it. But she also doesn’t have to gall to admit it so instead she shoots off a petulant “Shut up, Anya.”

“Hmm, no. I don’t think I will,” Anya dismisses gleefully. “Not until you tell me I’m right.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m still right”

Lexa sighs and cradles her head in her hands. There’s really no sense in denying this to Anya because it’s not like she’s going to tell anyone. It’s just admitting that she likes Clarke, admitting that she’s having _these_ feelings for someone out loud is incredibly difficult.

“Let’s say you’re right,” Lexa mumbles, hands still covering her face. “Hypothetically. Let’s say I do like her...what’s the point? I can’t do anything about it. I can’t act on it.”

“Who says you can’t?”

Lexa’s head snaps up. “ _You_ did. You _literally_ said there needs to be boundaries.”

When Anya rolls her eyes Lexa feels a little like emptying the contents of their shared pitcher over her best friend’s head.

“Yes but in this context it’s because of the Polaris project, you dummy. You shouldn’t get involved while you’re working together because you need to focus but once it’s over you can date whoever the hell you want. Frowned upon doesn’t mean forbidden...God, that sentence would sound so creepy out of context”

Lexa opens her mouth to argue but then thinks better of it. In six weeks the project will be over. In six weeks they’ll be free. In six weeks she’ll also have the option to return to her old job in New York. It doesn’t bare thinking about right now.

 Anya has a point. Anya has a point but something she’d said about dating strikes a chord with her. Dating implies commitment: a relationship. It involves levels of trust and affection that she doesn’t feel capable of giving. Not after-

“I never said I wanted to date her,” Lexa retorts. “What makes you think I want a relationship? What makes you think this isn’t purely physical?”

Anya shakes her head. “Oh Lexa. Poor, sweet, innocent Lexa,” she coos, reaching forward to pinch her cheeks. Lexa bats her hands away. “We both know this is more than just a crush. Never in your life have you done anything half-assed and that includes feelings of the romantic variety. You’re an all or nothing kind of girl. And as for Clarke Griffin...you don’t even realise how bad you have it.”

She’s got a pretty good idea if the confusing mix of emotions she feels when she thinks of blonde hair and blue eyes is any indication.

“You’re wrong,” Lexa counters, defiantly staring her down. “It’s just a stupid crush. It means nothing.”

Anya regards her silently, head cocked to the side and the beginnings of a frown marring her features. She feels the atmosphere between them shift and silently their conversation takes on a whole new meaning. Its way too deep for two people who’ve had this much to drink.

“Why are you lying to yourself?” Anya asks softly.  Lexa hates the pity in her voice. “I mean I’m not applauding your taste in women but if you like Griffin you should give it a shot. You’re allowed to be happy, Lexa.” A beat passes. “If this is because of Costia you can’t-”

“Can we not talk about this,” Lexa snaps.

The way in which her heart wrenches at the mention of that name is a bitter reminder of what can happen when she allows herself to feel.

 “I don’t want to spend my whole evening talking about Clarke or my love life,” Lexa continues, scowling hard. “Listen to me when I say that I really don’t care.”

Anya gives up, shrugging as she leans back in her seat.“Fine. Then you won’t mind that she’s dancing with tall dark and handsome over there,” she tacks on, inclining her head.

Lexa follows her gaze and sure enough sees Clarke in the middle of the dance floor, her back pressed into Bellamy’s front as they move to the music. When Bellamy grips Clarke’s waist, something inside her snaps because watching someone else put their hands all over the object of your affections is exactly as fun as it sounds.

But she’s got no right. Clarke isn’t hers. Clarke isn’t hers and despite that she can’t watch _this_. She’s on her feet in a second.

“Where are you going?” Anya calls after her.

“For a smoke.”

“You don’t smoke!”

She doesn’t slow down. She doesn’t stop walking until she’s far away from their booth, sriding across the bar. She doesn’t stop until she reaches the back door. She doesn’t stop until she storms out into the alley and sinks down onto one of the upturned beer crates.

Releasing a groan of frustration props her elbows on her knees and buries her head in her hands. Anya’s right. She didn’t realise how bad she had it. At least not until right now. 

 

 

 

Clarke POV

 

When Clarke had seen her across the bar earlier she thought she must have been dreaming. That or her alcohol tolerance had taken a serious hit and she was more inebriated than she thought. She’d craned her neck, desperately trying to get a better view through the crowd to confirm her suspicions.

 It had proved difficult because for some reason The Dropship is uncharacteristically busy tonight. She suspects it has something to do with the new bartender Murphy finally hired after months of them bitching at him. The girl he’s employed, Luna if she’s remembering correctly, actually has some level of customer service meaning she seems like a ball of sunshine in comparison to Murphy’s perpetual snark.

When the crowd thinned and she’d caught sight of that very distinctive profile, there was no doubting it. It’s Lexa. No one else on this planet has a jawline quite so perfectly sculpted or lips so temptingly kissable. She should know. She’s found herself staring at those characteristics (and admittedly a few others) enough times for it to be embarrassing.

She hadn’t thought twice about hurrying across the bar, leaving Raven and Octavia gawking at her in surprise as she abandoned them mid-conversation.

It could have been the perfect opportunity to be smooth and continue the level of conversation they’d shared in the elevator. Maybe in the back of her mind she’d even hoped for a little something more.

Because the thing is, despite finding Lexa wildly attractive, she genuinely wants to get to know her too. The small insight she’d gotten into Lexa’s true personality, seeing the beautifully complex woman who existed beneath corporate jargon and office politics, just wasn’t enough. She wants more. She _needs_ more. Once again Raven and Octavia have been proved correct. This is more than just a crush.

Anyway the point is it _could_ have been perfect. But it wasn’t. As soon as her friends joined the situation became crowded and then very quickly, uncomfortable. She sees now why Lexa declined her invitation. Its totally fucking awkward to subject your boss to the pure, unbridled craziness of your nearest and dearest. Especially when your boss’s best friend, notorious hard-ass and fellow authority figure, is stood beside her.

Now she’s sat at a table, surrounded by friends, thinking about what she could have done differently. There’s nothing. The scenario was always going to play out the same way as much as she might have hoped otherwise. The timing isn’t right. Though nothing would please her more to finally make her move and kiss Lexa in the middle of a crowded bar, it isn’t going to happen. 

“What’cha thinking about, Princess?” Bellamy asks, nudging her lightly. “You look as though you’re somewhere else.”

She feels it. Especially when she keeps finding her gaze drawn to the booth over the other side of the bar. From here she can see Lexa pretty clearly as she talks to Anya. It’s distracting.

“Nothing,” Clarke shrugs with a smile. “Just zoned out for a second I guess. What did I miss?”

Bellamy smiles like he knows something she doesn’t. “Not much. Jasper just suggested another round of shots but O shut him down. She’s being such a killjoy tonight,” he jokes.

 “That’s because you’re not the one who’ll have to put Monty’s drunk ass in a cab later,” Octavia chimes in from beside her brother. “I don’t want a repeat of New Years Eve. Do you know how long it took to get the smell of puke out of my car?”

She looks to the bar and sure enough Jasper looks like he’s giving a pep talking to Monty who sways precariously on the spot. The guy’s been taking his birthday privilege to the extreme since Miller texted saying he couldn’t make it. She feels pretty bad for him – Monty’s had a crush on Miller for the longest time.

“Lighten up, O, it’s his birthday,” Raven drawls from across the table. “If the guy wants to get so wasted he forgets his own name then we have to indulge him. Tonight we’re not just friends, we’re enablers. Party enablers.”

Raven lifts her glass with a cheer and Clarke and Bellamy clink theirs against it enthusiastically, grinning all the while. This is more like it, she thinks. She needs to relax and get into the party spirit. Less worrying about Lexa and more good times with her friends.

 It’s a happy moment until she catches the look on Octavia’s face, sullen and tense as she glares at Raven. She knows in an instant that something’s about to go down. No one else sees it coming.

 “And why am I not surprised _you’d_ be encouraging this idiotic behaviour?” Octavia challenges. The grin slides from Raven’s face. “Wait I know why...because that’s what you do isn’t it? You do whatever Raven Reyes likes and damn how everyone else feels?”

Fuck.

You could hear a pin drop in the silence between them, not counting the background noise of the bar. God, if she thinks this is awkward she can’t imagine how Raven must be feeling right now. She chances a glance at Raven out of the corner of her eye. For once in her life Raven remains quiet, her face twisted into an expression somewhere between shocked and guilty. It changes to one of hurt when Octavia gets to her feet.

“I’m gonna give Monty and Jas a hand at the bar,” Octavia mutters as she walks off.

Clarke moves to get up, intending to do some damage control when she feels a hand squeeze her shoulder. Bellamy smiles sadly, shakes his head and goes after his sister. She doesn’t question it – when it comes to Octavia, Bellamy has a way with words she can’t match. That leaves her with Raven who still looks just as unnerved by Octavia’s outburst as she had moments ago.

“You ok?” Clarke ventures carefully. “That was pretty intense.”

“Y-yeah,” Raven breathes out. “I’m fine, I just...what the fuck was that even about? Like what did I even do?”

Clarke frowns because she knows exactly what that was about. She’s sure Raven knows it’s too and she’s had just about enough of her two best friends dancing around their feelings.

“Come on, Rae,” Clarke sighs, looking Raven in the eye. “You know exactly what that was about.” A beat passes. “Hitting on Anya in front of her? You must have known she wouldn’t be cool with that.”

Raven wrinkles her nose as though confused. “What does me flirting with Anya have to do with Octavia?” she counters hotly. “Why would O even care if I-”

“Enough!” Clarke snaps, silencing Raven with a raised palm. “Are you fucking kidding me, Raven? Just drop the act, ok? It’s been three years. Three years that I’ve had to watch the two of you pretending that you’re not madly in love with each other when it’s clear for everyone to see. I know it, Bellamy knows it, the world fucking world knows it,” she rants, ignoring Raven’s raised eyebrows.

“Her pretending that she’s not hurt when you hook up with Wick, you pretending it doesn’t crush you when some guy asks her out on a date. I’m not having it anymore. For fucks sake, you’re so obviously meant to be together and you guys won’t even acknowledge it. You’re both driving me insane.”

Clarke takes the opportunity to catch her breath as Raven blinks slowly. For a couple of seconds Raven looks on the verge of arguing. Then her face breaks into the widest grin Clarke thinks she’s ever seen. It’s a little alarming. 

“You really think she likes me?” Raven asks, amazement lacing her voice. “Like that?” she clarifies needlessly.

Clarke resists the urge to reach out and strangle her. “Yes,” she deadpans. “She likes you like that.”

The grin slides off Raven’s face to give way to a look of fear as reality sets in.

 “Well has she told you that? When did she tell you? What should I say to her? Griffin, what do I do?” Raven babbles nervously. “Oh God, what do I do? What if she stays mad at me-”

“Raven,” Clarke warns, reaching over the table to grab her shoulders. “You’re freaking out over nothing. Don’t freak out. She’s still the same Octavia you’ve always known. Just don’t act all,” she pauses, gesticulating vaguely, “weird, ok?”

Raven nods eagerly.

“When they come back over here just carry on as normal. Maybe talk to her about it later when you guys are alone. And relax, you got this,” Clarke smiles in encouragement.

Raven lets out a sigh of relief. “Thanks Clarke. I needed that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Clarke takes a long gulp of her drink and tries to decompress. When she came out tonight she didn’t think she’d be advising her friends on their love lives whilst agonising over her own. Maybe she should try listening to her own advice for once.

She finds herself staring at Lexa’s booth again, hoping to catch her eye. There’s no such luck. She does, however, receive a surprisingly friendly smile from Anya who happens to be looking her way. Weird. And also unsettling.

“They’re coming back,” Raven says, looking over Clarke’s shoulder. “Be cool, Griffin.”

Clarke fixes her with a withering stare and drains the rest of her drink. Be cool? Terrible advice, she’s always cool.

“You know I only said those things about Anya to make Octavia jealous,” Raven whispers lowly. “How fucking stupid am I?”

The rest of their group returns to the table, carrying an alarming amount of drinks. There are a few minutes of tension between Raven and Octavia but it soon dissipates when Jasper suggests a game of Quarters.

Clarke joins in, laughing, joking and drinking with the rest of them as each attempt to sink the coin becomes increasingly sloppy. Only occasionally does she glance over the other side of the room, hoping to find green eyes looking back at her.

A couple of drinks later, she find herself mulling over Raven words, _I only said those things about Anya to make Octavia jealous. How fucking stupid am I?_

Then an idea equal parts terrible and brilliant starts to form in her head. The question is: how fucking stupid is she?

 

 ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

It’s around 11:30 when things start to change. Nathan Miller shows up after all, surprising Monty with a kiss on the cheek which makes him giggle uncontrollably.  It’s shortly after that when Monty, Miller and Jasper get up to dance – Jasper deciding to try his flirting techniques on a dark haired girl he’d spotted across the room.

That leaves her with Bellamy, Raven and Octavia who seem to have entirely surpassed their earlier awkwardness. She’s doing the ugliest laugh at a joke Bellamy tells them when she spots Lexa looking in their direction, her breath catching in her throat when it happens. Sitting up a little straighter, she smiles and waves, hoping the brunette might make good on her earlier promise to join them for a drink.

But Lexa doesn’t. She looks away almost at once, leaving Clarke feeling a little disappointed. It was a stupid thing to hope for anyway. She has to keep reminding herself about the damn boundaries. It’s difficult when she knows what Lexa’s really like and it’s unfair now that she’s had a little taste of that. At least she can have her to herself at the Polaris Fundraiser...well, sort of.

“So Lexa, huh?” Bellamy asks, drawing her attention back to the group. “She’s not like what I expected at all. I mean from the way you described her to me a couple of weeks ago...”

Oh right. The last time she’d spoken to Bellamy she’d painted Lexa as this power-hungry figure who had swept in from corporate to make their lives a living hell.

“Yeah, she’s not what I expected either,” Clarke breezes casually. “Turns out I was wrong about her. She’s actually really nice and has some interesting ideas on where she’s going to take the project.”

Bellamy looks at her wide-eyed. “Sorry did I hear that correctly? Do my ears deceive me or did Clarke Griffin just admit she was wrong about something?”

Clarke swats him on the arm. “Shut up, you dick,” she chuckles. “Sometimes people are wrong. Even me. It happens. Anyway, we like her now. Lexa’s cool.”

“Yeah, really cool,” Octavia intones. “Clarke likes her _a lot_.”

“Yeah, a _hell_ of a lot,” Raven adds.

Clarke shoots them both a glare because what is this, middle school? When will they stop teasing her about this? Fortunately for them she’s too good of a friend to mock them right back.

“Oh I see,” Bellamy says, grinning widely. “You’ve got a crush on your boss,” he sing-songs. Clarke narrows her eyes. “Don’t look so startled, Princess, its fine. She’s a very attractive woman. Frankly I’d be worried about you if you _didn’t_ like her.”

Clarke swats him on the arm again and rolls her eyes. She’s glad Bellamy has a positive view of Lexa because she’s going to need his help on the terrible/awesome plan she’s formulating.

“Though who’s her angry looking friend?” Bellamy asks, straining his neck to see their booth. “She’s hot.”

“Ugh, not you too,” Octavia groans. “Why is everyone obsessed with Anya? Like I get it, she’s hot but she looks like she could kill you with a well placed glare.”

“I think that’s part of the appeal,” Bellamy winks.

Octavia makes a gagging noise.

“She’s alright,” Raven shrugs. “But she’s nowhere near as gorgeous as you,” she says, sliding her arm around Octavia’s shoulders.

Octavia blushes redder than the dress she’s wearing and this time it’s Clarke and Bellamy who feign being sick.

Although it’s totally cheesy, she can’t help but admire Raven for being so smooth. She wishes she had that effortless confidence. When she flirts its downright direct. She can add winking at Lexa to that list of offences. What does subtle even mean?

“Get a room, maybe,” Bellamy pouts.

“Not really an option right now, Blake,” Raven smirks. “Hey, O, you wanna ditch these two losers and come dance with me instead?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Octavia grins, taking Raven’s hand. “Later losers,” she calls over her shoulder.

Clarke watches on with a smile as they head to the dance floor together. At least some of their group will be going home happy tonight.

“You think those two will finally pull their heads out of their asses and get together?” Bellamy asks, turning to face her.

Clarke nods. “I think so.”

“So how about you? What does Clarke Griffin wa-”

“I need your help with something. With Lexa”

Well there it is. She hadn’t meant to blurt it out quite so abruptly but she’s been thinking about this for a while now and she can’t wait any longer.

 “Ok so hear me out. I have this idea and it’s a little crazy but it think it might work.”

“O-k,” Bellamy says slowly. “Go on.”

“So I think Lexa likes me back. The other week we got stuck in the elevator together and well almost kissed. It was kind of intense.” Bellamy’s eyebrows shoot up but he says nothing, listening intently. “Well I thought what if...what if it looked like we were flirting and then you danced with me?”

Bellamy frowns. “Your intention is to make her angry? I don’t get it.”

“No. My intention is to make her jealous.”

“Why?”

“Because...”

Because it sounds like a good idea after 6 beers. Because it somehow worked for Raven. Because I want her to look at me like she wants me.

“Because I feel like she’s holding back. And maybe this will spur her into action.”

Bellamy looks at her like she’s got two heads. “Clarke, this is a crazy idea. Why can’t you just tell her that you like her like a normal person would?”

Clarke sighs in frustration. “It’s complicated, Bell. I can’t just come out and say it any more than she can. We have to work together,” she explains. “What if I read the signals wrong? What if she doesn’t feel like that about me at all? If I tell her and she doesn’t it’ll be super awkward at work. This way, from the reaction she has, I’ll know for sure.”

Its true. She’s fairly certain Lexa _does_ like her but there’s always room for doubt. Doubt that intensifies when alcohol is added to the equation.

“Ok, fine. I’ll do it,” Bellamy agrees with a sigh. “But for the record I think this is a terrible idea and if it goes south I accept no responsibility. On the other hand if it goes well I expect you to make me best man at your wedding.”

Clarke grins and rolls her eyes. “Deal on both counts. Now come on, let’s go.”

So that’s how she finds herself, a couple of minutes after midnight, grinding against Bellamy on the dance floor to Def Leppard. The confused looks she’s getting from her friends don’t faze her, there’s only one person she wants to be looking.

“For fucks sake, Bell,” Clarke hisses. “Put your hands on my waist or something. Make it convincing.”

Bellamy obliges though he looks a little uncomfortable. They’re friends. They’ve only ever been friends so she’s asking a lot.

It’s worth it though when Lexa does eventually notice her. Their eyes meet for a few prolonged seconds and Clarke feels her heart skip a beat. Lexa’s eyes flash with some indiscernible emotion and a second later she’s on her feet, stalking past them towards the back door.

Clarke stops dancing and looks longingly after her retreating form. That’s all the confirmation she needed and whilst it doesn’t feel great, seeing Lexa walk off in what is presumably jealousy, it does give her hope. Now she knows what to do.

She goes after her, heading into the alley with the beginnings of another terrible idea in her mind.

 

 

 

 

As soon as the door opens she’s hit with a wave of cool summer breeze. It’s definitely a welcome relief. Inside the bar is so hot it verges on uncomfortable.

She walks slowly down the alley and spots Lexa sitting on one of the upturned beer crates Murphy has left there. Her heart sinks a little when she notices Lexa’s holding her head in her hands as though upset. Hopefully she won’t be feeling that way for long.

“Hey,” Clarke calls as she approaches. “Mind if I join you?”

Lexa looks up, brow creased slightly. “Be my guest,” she says, gesturing at the crate beside her.

“Nice place you got here,” Clarke jokes, attempting to lighten the mood. “Cosy really.”

Lexa’s lips lift in the smallest of smiles. “Thanks. I got a good deal owing to the lack of roof and um...everything else.”

“Well I hope they threw in the empty beer bottles for free else I think you got ripped off.”

Lexa hums in agreement and then looks back to the ground. Clarke’s teeth worry her lower lip. Why must she make everything into a joke? Humour is a defence mechanism but she didn’t come out here to be funny. Head in the game, Griffin.

“So what are you doing out here?” Clarke asks when she can’t stand the silence any longer.

“I came out for a smoke.”

“I didn’t know you smoked?”

“I don’t.”

“Oh.”

More silence. And Lexa’s staring at the ground again. Perfect. She really is doing an outstanding job of fucking this up.

“What’re you doing out here, Clarke?” Lexa asks, tone tinged with annoyance. “Shouldn’t you be inside dancing with Bellamy?”

“Bell? No, I don’t...” Clarke pauses, regretting the hole she’s dug for herself. “We’re not together if that’s what you mean.”

“Didn’t really look that way.”

Oh god, she desperately needs to rescue this situation. No more jokes, no more deflecting, she needs to be honest. Fuck it, she’s going in.

“Lexa, I have a confession to make,” Clarke breathes out. “I was only dancing with Bellamy to get a reaction out of you. To try and make you jealous.” She pauses. Lexa gives her a sideways look. “I know it was stupid and I know it was childish but I just...” she trails off.

“Why would you do that?” Lexa asks quietly.

Lexa’s sitting up straight now, her head tilted to one side as she waits for an answer. Clarke wishes the moonlight didn’t wash over her face just so, casting shadows in all the right places and causing her eyes to sparkle under its glow. Damn, she’s beautiful.

“Because I like you,” Clarke admits, turning fully to face her. “I like you and unless I’m really fucking useless at reading the signals... I think you might like me back.”

Lexa stares back at her, lips slightly parted and eyes wide. She looks...stunned might be a good way to describe it. Shocked but pleasantly so? She doesn’t know. What she does know is that these frequent bouts of silence are killing her.

“Please say something,” Clarke urges. “Say anything.”

“I...I don’t know what to say. My brain’s kind of stopped working.”

She’ll take that as a good sign rather than a bad one from the way Lexa smiles. Maybe she means that she’s too overwhelmed to speak? Whatever it is, she can see that she’s going to have to take the initiative on this one. That direct style of flirting is about to make a comeback in a big way.

“Then I’ll talk,” Clarke announces, leaning in a little closer. “You want to know what I think?” Lexa nods. “I think you wanted to kiss me that day in the elevator.”

Lexa glances at her lips. “What makes you say that?”

The sight of that alone combined with the almost raspy quality of Lexa’s voice sends a shiver down her spine. It’s totally encouraging.

“You’re not denying it.”

“I’m not confirming it either.”

Clarke runs her tongue over her lips. “Well you wanna know what else I think?” Lexa nods again. “I think it’s been on your mind ever since. And I think if I kissed you now, you’d kiss me back. You know why?” A beat passes. “Because it’s what we both want.”

That’s her cue. She lets her eyes trail slowly over Lexa’s face as she starts to lean in, one hand moving to cup the back of Lexa’s neck. She closes her eyes and lets gravity do the rest. Her nose nudges against Lexa’s and she feels the puff of Lexa’s breath, shallow and rhythmic against her lips as she closes the gap between th-

“Wait.”

That word makes her stop instantly. She pulls back, brow furrowed in confusion and a lump forming in her throat. She’s wrong. She’s been wrong the whole time.

“Lexa I’m so sorry, I-”

“Clarke, no. Stop,” Lexa says, placing her hands on Clarke’s shoulders. “Listen to me. I want to, ok? I _really_ want to but you know we can’t. It’ll complicate everything. Maybe after the project is over we could...”

Clarke doesn’t hear the bit about it being complicated. She couldn’t give a damn. Lexa wants to kiss her. Lexa wants _her_. That outweighs everything else. Its then that she gets another of her ideas.

“Well what if we did it once?” Clarke suggests.

“What?” Lexa frowns.

“What if we kiss once just to get it out of our system,” Clarke explains to a thoroughly bemused Lexa. “Like we do it once and it removes the temptation. Our curiosity will be satisfied.”

It’s a terrible idea. They both know it’s a terrible idea. Lexa is never going to agree to-

“That might be a good idea.”

Wait, what?

“Really?” Clarke asks. She can scarcely believe that worked. “So we’re in agreement?”

Is this a fucking business deal or a kiss?

“We’re in agreement,” Lexa confirms. “We’re both on the same page. We have come to a mutual-”

“Lexa,” Clarke smirks, “Are you gonna kiss me or not? Because as adorable as your babbling is, I’m kind of on the edge of my seat here.”

Lexa pauses for a second and then smiles, biting her lower lip. The hands that are on Clarke’s shoulders pull slightly and Clarke reacts automatically, eyes fluttering closed as she leans forward. When Lexa’s nose brushes her own once again, lips tantalisingly close, she catches the faint undertones of that perfume she’s come to love. Its wildly reminiscent of their afternoon in the elevator except this time there’s no interruptions.

When Lexa’s lips press against her own they’re every bit as soft as she’d allowed herself to imagine. Her heart beats dangerously fast when Lexa applies a gentle pressure. Fuck it, this is better than she imagined, it’s...it’s...entirely too brief.

Her eyes fly open when she feels the cool evening air on her lips in the absence of Lexa’s mouth. A peck? A fucking peck on the lips? It’s ridiculous. She levels the brunette with a stare that tells her as such. She sighs, rolls her eyes and mutters a frustrated “ _for fucks sake, Lexa,”_ before cupping Lexa’s face in her hands and crashing their lips together.

This is more like it. After a second she feels Lexa relax into the kiss, the tension leaving her shoulders as she tilts her mouth for a better angle. It’s everything a first kiss should be: soft, tender and electrifying. So utterly perfect it steals the breath from her lungs. From the way their lips slide effortlessly against each other it’s as if they were made to do just this.

It’s Lexa who deepens the kiss, taking her totally by surprise when a tongue runs across her lower lip, silently asking for permission. Clarke’s more than happy to oblige, parting her lips as she runs her fingers over the jawline she’s so admired before moving to stroke fine hairs at the base of Lexa’s neck. Its clearly the right move as Lexa pushes harder against her, her arms wrapping around Clarke’s waist as if to hold her in place. As if she’d rather be anywhere else right now.

When Lexa licks across the roof of her mouth, she sees fireworks dancing behind her eyelids. She’s unable to suppress the moan that works its way up her throat and feels Lexa smile into the kiss as she swallows the sound. In retaliation she sucks Lexa’s lower lip into her mouth and revels in the small keening noise it elicits.

She never wants to stop kissing Lexa. She’s kissed a lot of people in her time but none of them come close, none of them could ever compare to the way she feels right now. Unfortunately, as with all good things, this has to come to an end. Though to their credit its not due to lack of want, rather a lack of oxygen.

She releases Lexa’s lip with a faint wet pop and keeps her eyes closed for the extra second, not daring to open them just yet. When she does open them she feels a sense of instant relief. Lexa looks just as flustered as she feels. Who can blame her? It was a hell of a kiss.

“So,” Lexa says after a moment. “Was that ok?”

Was it ever.

“Yes,” Clarke husks, finding her mouth suddenly dry. “Yes, it was...good.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

 “See, I told you we’d be fine,” Clarke says, trying to compose herself. “Nothing to worry about.”

What a fantastic lie.

“Shall we go back inside?” Lexa asks, getting to her feet. “Your friends are probably wondering where you’ve go to. And Any'sa probably three sheets to the wind by now – she’s a very affectionate drunk, you know?”

Clarke laughs at the thought, hoisting herself up off the crate and gesturing for Lexa to go first. When Lexa’s back is turned she finds herself gently tracing her lips with her fingers as though trying to remember the sensation of those pillowy lips against her own.

She’s done for.  Her curiosity isn’t satisfied at all. Because now she knows how it feels to kiss Lexa Woods and once will never be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...we finally got there after 77k words.  
> Sorry for torturing y'all with the slowburn ;)  
> Also, I couldn't resist putting Luna in this story because Nadia Hilker is the sweetest.  
> Please let me know if you enjoyed the chapter - I'm also lurking on tumblr at toolateintheday


	12. Everything looks better in the morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mixed POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let it be known I am forever thankful for all your comments and kudos. You guys are lovely :)  
> Can you believe I finally wrote the kiss into it?  
> I am not messing around with that slowburn ;)  
> Anyway, here's another mixed POV  
> Enjoy

Lexa POV

 

“Shall we go back inside? Your friends are probably wondering where you’ve got to. And Anya’s probably three sheets to the wind by now – she’s a very affectionate drunk, you know?”

Lexa is astounded by how calm she’s being in the aftermath of the kiss. Or rather how well she’s projecting the illusion of calmness as Clarke follows her back into the bar.

The truth is she’s an absolute mess. A gay mess.

Her heart is still beating at 100mph as it had been the entire time Clarke’s lips had been on hers and her hands shake when she reaches out to push the door open. These symptoms paired with the light-headedness she’s experiencing can typically be attributed to a temporary decrease in blood flow to the brain.

But she knows that basic biology cannot possibly account for the way she feels in this moment. It’s something so much more than that. When Clarke had kissed her it had felt like two pieces of the same puzzle slotting into place, as though she’d finally solved some cryptic riddle that she didn’t even realise existed. It just...made sense.

 She knows it sounds cringe-worthy, even in her own head it sounds totally cliché but there’s really no other way to describe it. Clarke is special, that much is certain.

She subtly traces her tongue across her lips, hoping to find some faint taste of Clarke still on them. There’s some barely there hint of vanilla which doesn’t come close to sating her desire because it’s nothing compared to the sheer bliss she’d experienced moments ago.

However the more she thinks about it, the surer she becomes that kissing Clarke had been a truly terrible idea. Not due to regret, of course, no. It’s because she suspects that nothing will satisfy her unless she’s somehow able to kiss Clarke again. With the exception of alcohol she’s never touched a drug in her life but in this moment she’s convinced she’s an addict – desperately craving something potentially detrimental.

She could do it right now if she wanted to. She could turn around, pin Clarke against the wall and kiss her with everything she’s got. They agreed it would only be once but she doubts Clarke would be against the idea. Not if the way Clarke looked at her afterwards is any indication, with her pupils blown and her breathing ragged. That look had awakened a hunger inside her she’d thought long since dead.

Screw it, they’ve done it once. What’s the harm in doing it again? She stops abruptly in the short hallway that leads from the bar area to the alley, causing Clarke to stumble into her back.

“Fuck, sorry. I didn’t realise you’d stopped,” Clarke apologises as Lexa turns to face her. “You ok?”

“F-fine. I’m fine,” Lexa stammers. This seemed like a much better idea when she wasn’t looking Clarke in the eye. “I just...about what happened. I-uh, I...”

“Are you referring to the kiss?” Clarke teases, cocking an eyebrow.

Lexa blinks in surprise, not expecting Clarke to be so direct. Hasn’t she learned anything about Clarke by now?

“You know, the kiss? Happened about 2 minutes ago outside?” Clarke breezes casually. “We were both involved? It was kinda hot. That kiss?”

Ugh, how is it fair that Clarke is so cool when she’s a babbling wreck? Isn’t alcohol supposed to loosen your inhibitions? It makes no sense. Pitching to a board of stakeholders? No problem. Having a normal conversation with an attractive woman? Utterly useless. If she could channel some of that boardroom authority now, that would be great.

Lexa forces down any residual nerves she has. “Yes. That kiss,” she confirms, nodding shakily. “Look Clarke I just wondered if you-”

“You don’t regret it do you”? Clarke asks, eyebrows knitting together. She suddenly looks a lot less confident. “Because I don’t think I could handle it if-”

“No! No, god no,” Lexa cuts her off. “The kiss was perf- good. It was good. That’s not what I was going to say at all.”

“Well I’m glad it was so perfgood for you,” Clarke says, straight back to teasing her again. “You were saying?”

Come on Woods, you can do this. You’re a confident, attractive, intelligent woman. Just make the move already!

“I wanted to ask you if...”

There it is again. That change in atmosphere as she takes a step into Clarke’s personal space. They’re not quite touching but its close enough that she could count each one of Clarke’s eyelashes individually if she wanted to.

“Yes?” Clarke’s voice has taken on that delicious raspy quality again. It makes her knees tremble.

 Lexa bites her lower lip. “Would it be ok if I-”

“What are you two doing back here?”

Murphy’s sudden appearance startles them both and they jump away from each other as though burned. She doesn’t know how they didn’t hear him approaching when he’s carrying a crate full of empty bottles.

“Nothing,” Clarke says. “Just getting some fresh air.”

“Uh huh. Well if you’ve had enough _fresh air_ can you get the hell out the way? You’re blocking the fire exit. It’s a health and safety risk,” Murphy drawls.

Lexa glares at him. She doesn’t believe for a second that Murphy cares one iota about health and safety violations but nevertheless she pushes past him back into the bar, Clarke close behind her.

“What a jerk,” Clarke mutters as they enter. “You know for a guy whose main job is keeping customers happy you think he’d...good lord.”

“What?”

Lexa turns her head sharply to look at Clarke who stares, opened-mouthed and blinking as though she can’t believe her eyes. Clarke wordlessly points her finger and Lexa follows its direction, immediately adopting a similar expression when her eyes land on the bar. Things seem to have... degenerated in their absence.

Bellamy and the guy she presumes to be Jasper are dancing on the bar with their shirts off. There’s a small crowd of women gathered at their feet who cheer them on, banging on the countertop and throwing dollar bills in encouragement. Lexa can’t help but be a little impressed as the two of them pull off some ridiculous coordinated dance moves. They look as though they’re having the time of their lives.

“I’m gone for like 10 minutes and they’re out of control,” Clarke mutters.

Lexa chuckles and then wonders why the bartender Anya had her eye on earlier hasn’t put an end to this already. A quick scan of the bar provides her with an answer. The bartender is otherwise engaged in conversation, leaning over the counter top in close proximity to Anya’s face. When Anya smiles and brushes her hand over the brunette’s, there’s no doubt in Lexa’s mind that they’ll be going home together. Her best friend is as smooth as she is intimidating.

“Looks like you’ll be catching a cab solo,” Clarke remarks amusedly. “Anya works fast. Didn’t realise she had game.”

“She’s actually very charismatic,” Lexa says. “A real charmer when she needs to be.”

“I don’t believe it.”

 “It’s true. Once you get past the cold, hard exterior, she’s actually very sweet. Kind of like a human tootsie pop.”

Clarke snorts loudly and Lexa’s unable to keep a straight face as she bursts into a fit of laughter. They’re laughing so hard that Clarke has to place a hand on Lexa’s shoulder to steady herself. Lexa wishes it didn’t make her heart beat twice as fast but it does.

“Your jokes are terrible,” Clarke says, wiping the tears away from her eyes. “Truly awful.”

“Rude. You must think they’re funny to laugh at them,” Lexa points out with a wry smile.

“Nah, I’m just humouring you cause you’re cute.”

Lexa pauses, throwing Clarke a curious look that causes two small pink circles to materialise on the blonde’s cheeks as she mashes her lips together and looks away.

 It still hasn’t sunk in – the fact that Clarke likes her. It seems too good to be true and in a way it is. Were they not working together, were she not bound by her duty to the company and its employees – her people, they would be free to explore the undeniable chemistry between them. But as frustrating as it is, that’s the way things have to be. At least for now.

Clarke clears her throat. “So do you have any more lame jokes for me or...oh my god are you seeing this?”

Lexa turns around slowly, wondering what it could possibly be this time. Surely nothing worse than seeing Bellamy and Jasper semi-naked.

It’s fortunately not worse. It happens to be two women (rather aggressively) making out in the middle of the dance floor. They’ve attracted a fair number of onlookers – mostly older men who gawk shamelessly from their bar stools. She can’t say she’s surprised when they’re being quite so blatant about it. When the shorter one slides her hands into the back pockets of the taller girl’s jeans she feels like she’s intruding by watching this display.

“Holy fuck!” Clarke exclaims beside her. “I can’t believe they finally did it.”

Lexa frowns. It’s just two girls kissing. “What do you mean _they_?”

“Look again,” Clarke says with a smirk.

She looks back and...oh. _Oh_. On closer inspection it’s Raven and Octavia who happen to be engaged in the world’s most passionate game of tonsil hockey. Ok, now it definitely feels like she’s intruding.

“Huh,” Lexa says, turning back to Clarke. “So that’s what years of repressed sexual tension looks like.”

Clarke hums in agreement. “Yeah. Seems like they’re making up for lost time.”

“More like making out for lost time,” Lexa quips, waggling her eyebrows.

Clarke groans exaggeratedly. “Is this what you’re like after a few drinks? That was somehow even worse than your first joke,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Anyway I’m just glad they finally got their shit together. Honestly, I’m happy if they’re happy but it’s about time they acknowledged the attraction between them.”

“They do seem very well suited.”

“They are,” Clarke agrees, eyes flitting back to Lexa’s. “But then I think when two people have a bond as unique as that, it’s inevitable that they’ll eventually get together. Sometimes it just takes a little while.”

Lexa’s heart thumps so hard in her chest she’s sure Clarke can hear it over the music. The implication of _inevitable_ is not lost on her and she maintains eye contact as she nods once. “It takes as long as it takes.”

She means it. Despite having only known her for a month, she already knows in her heart that Clarke special. She’s one of the few people in this world worth waiting for. It’s not love, she knows that. But it is _something._ And _something_ is not a feeling she thought she’d be capable of experiencing again.

“Well I can’t see any sign of Monty,” Clarke says, peering around the room. “So I’m gonna guess he got his Birthday wish and went home with Miller. And Raven is, uh, preoccupied. You wanna share a cab?”

Lexa nods. There’s no harm in sharing a cab. Plus she can make sure Clarke gets home safe. “Sure. Where do you live?”

“Nowhere as grand as West Hollywood,” Clarke teases as Lexa gives her a withering look. “Just over in Fairfax, not too far from The Grove. Though if it’s too far out of your way I can-”

Lexa shakes her head. “It’s no trouble at all. Shall we?”

She tries unsuccessfully to make eye contact with Anya as she walks towards the door. It’s probably for the best. Anya will have 101 questions if she sees her leaving with Clarke. She’ll just send her a text to let her know she got home ok.

The journey to Clarke’s is mostly quiet, both of them wrapped up in their own thoughts as the cab speeds along. Every so often she steals a glance at Clarke, her face half shadowed, half illuminated by the streetlights. God she’s beautiful.

She’s still kicking herself for not being confident enough to kiss her properly the first time around. She was so nervous all she could muster was a half-hearted peck, so when Clarke surged forward, lips persistent yet yielding, she took that as a green light. If she was only going to kiss Clarke once, she had to make it memorable.

In her life she’s kissed a grand total of four people before now. It’s not many but when you’re forced to repress your sexuality as an adolescent, it’s something you carry around until you eventually learn to accept yourself and explore who you are.

The first had been a boy at bible camp when she was 13. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience. Actually, if she’s being blunt, it was pretty gross. That’s when she first thought she might have been gay.

The second was your classic college ‘questioning my sexuality’ scenario. After too many wine coolers at a party she found herself making out with the captain of the women’s lacrosse team in an overcrowded kitchen. That’s when she _knew_ she was gay. 

The third was a waitress from a diner she used to frequent with Anya. There’s no real story to tell there. They dated, it was fun, it ended amicably.

The fourth, though, Costia...well that one had about turned her world upside down. As much as she hates to use the term ‘sexual awakening’ that’s what it was. Their first kiss had been on a wintery November morning with Cental Park serving as the perfect picturesque backdrop.

Soon after that she’d found herself falling hard and fast. Before Costia she hadn’t understood what it meant to love someone – and it turns out it means the world. So suffice to say when Costia left, it felt as though her world was ending. Though in reality it never actually existed seeing as the entire relationship was built on a foundation of deceit.

 If someone had told her she’d be capable of opening up to another person in that way again, she would have laughed in their face.

But then along came Clarke. Clarke with her wonderfully dry sense of humour. Clarke with her beautiful golden hair and eyes the colour of the ocean. Clarke with her soft lips that taste like vanilla and something altogether sweeter. Clarke who is totally unexpected and-

 “This is me,” Clarke says when they pull up outside a small apartment complex. “Here, take this.”

Lexa shakes her head at the $20 she’s offered. “Keep it. I was going this way home anyway. It’s barely a detour.”

Clarke smiles in thanks and put the money back into her purse. Lexa’s opening her door and dashing around to the other side of the cab without really thinking about it to get Clarke’s door for her. Okay, there’s being chivalrous and then there’s being extra. She knows which category she falls into in that moment.

“Thanks,” Clarke says, grinning pointedly as she gets out of the cab. “You gonna walk me to my door too?” she teases.

Lexa knows she meant it as a joke but she has every intention of doing so. “Of course. The safety and wellbeing of my employees is always my first concern.”

“Uh huh,” Clarke nods sagely. “I’ll bet.”

They walk in step up the short pathway that leads to the apartment complex. The whole time she’s wondering how they’re going to leave this. She should have just stayed in the car because she’s not sure what the protocol is after you’ve kissed someone to ‘remove the temptation.’ Is it a hug? A kiss on the cheek? Both seem problematic.

“So...” Clarke says once they reach the door.

“So...”Lexa repeats. Cue the awkwardness. “See you on Monday, Clarke.”

“Hey, wait” Clarke calls as she starts to walk away. “Hang on a second. Give me your phone.”

Lexa hands it over without question, waiting patiently as Clarke taps on the screen.

Clarke lets out a noise of approval and hands it back. “Here. Now you have my number. For anything strictly work related, of course.”

“Of course,” Lexa says, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement. “Well thank you for a pleasant evening...it’s definitely been an experience.”

“It has. I feel like I should apologise for my friends and say tonight’s shenanigans were a one off but I’d be lying. They’re always that weird,” Clarke sighs. Lexa chuckles lightly. “I’m really glad you came though. Even if you didn’t intend to.”

“Me too,” Lexa smiles.

They’re left in another of those tense silences. The ones where she’s not quite sure where to look. It’s taking every bit of restraint she has not to let her eyes drop to Clarke’s lips. She knows what will happen if she does. Instead she offers her hand out for a handshake like the nerd she is.

Clarke looks her in the eyes, drops her gaze down to her outstretched hand and then meets her eyes again with an amused look. Then in true unpredictable Clarke Griffin style, she takes her hand, smiles, raises it to her lips and presses a quick kiss to the back of it.

Lexa fucking malfunctions.

“Goodnight, Lexa,” Clarke trills. “See you on Monday.”

 With that she turns away, walks into the complex and shuts the door behind her without a backwards glance.

Lexa stands rooted to the spot, staring at the closed door as though it might come to life and tell her what to do next. It’s only the impatient honking of the cabbie’s horn that brings her to her senses.

Her journey home is a complete blur. It could have taken hours and she wouldn’t have noticed as she stared at the faint lipstick stain on the back of her hand. When she gets into her apartment she pours herself a glass of water, undresses and climbs into bed. Her mind is still full of Clarke as she stares blankly at the ceiling.

Six weeks. Six weeks and she can kiss Clarke again. Providing Clarke is still interested in her, that is. She has a good feeling about it. But six weeks. 42 days. 996 hours. It’s a long time and to be perfectly honest, she’s not sure she’ll make it. Even if she does she’s not sure what lies in store for her at the end of it. She’s not sure she’s ready. But god, does she want to be.

She rolls over, picking up her phone from the nightstand and composing a message.

_“Goodnight Clarke x”_

She deletes the x before she presses send.

 

 ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

The next morning she wakes to the sound of the apartment door creaking open. It wouldn’t be enough to wake most people but she’s a light sleeper and therefore out of bed in a split second.

Tip-toeing over to the wardrobe, she pulls out the baseball bat she keeps there for such instances. She’s never been the victim of a home invasion but in a city like LA, one can never be too careful. Gripping the bat, she inches out of her bedroom and into the open-plan living room.

Peering around the corner she sees the hooded intruder hunched over her coffee maker, muttering under their breath. She frowns and creeps closer, lowering the bat a little because who the fuck breaks into someone’s apartment to make coffee?

Who indeed becomes clear a second later when the intruder turns around and drops her favourite coffee cup in surprise.

“Jesus fucking christ!” Anya cries, clutching at her chest. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“You’re surprised to see me in my own apartment?” Lexa deadpans, lowering the bat completely. “Newsflash, I live here. Which brings me to my second point: why the hell are you breaking in like some sort of reprobate?”

Anya sighs as she bends down to pick up the broken cup. “I didn’t break in, Nancy Drew. I used the key you gave me in case of emergencies.”

Lexa rolls her eyes at herself when she remembers. She did give Anya a key a couple of weeks ago when they ate too much Chinese food and drank too much Jameson. She frowns as she watches Anya throw the remnants of her favourite mug into the bin.

“Yes, for emergencies _only_ ,”Lexa tells her pointedly. “What’s the emergency? And why are you wearing sunglasses and a scarf indoors?”

“Must you ask so many questions?” Anya says exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You realise that’s a question.”

Anya shoots her a withering glare as she takes a seat at the kitchen island. “The emergency is you didn’t text me last night and when I tried to call your cell it went to voicemail. I figured you were being lame and went home early but I thought I’d check you weren’t dead like the good friend I am.”

Lexa cringes. With her head so full of Clarke she’d forgotten to update Anya on her whereabouts as intended.

 “And the sunglasses are because it’s bright in here and I’m hung-over as hell,” Anya tacks on. “Now if you’re finished interrogating me can I please have some coffee?”

“Sure.”

Lexa begrudgingly walks over to the coffee maker. She’s not exactly feeling fresh as a daisy herself this morning but Anya did come all the way over here just check she was ok. A strong cup of French roast ought to smooth things over.

“So where did you go to last night?” Anya asks. “I didn’t see you after you stormed out of there over Griffin’s risqué little show.”

Lexa’s glad she’s got her back to Anya because she’s sure she’s blushing profusely. “Nowhere. I went home pretty much straight after.”

“So you didn’t talk to her?” Anya presses. Lexa can hear the accusation in her tone. “Because it looked like she ran after you.”

Lexa schools her features into a neutral expression before she turns around, placing Anya’s coffee in front of her. “No, I didn’t see her. Though I think the bigger question is why are you wearing that ridiculous scarf?”

Anya’s eyes may be hidden behind sunglasses but even oversized aviators don’t manage to hide her guilty expression. “It’s cold out.”

Lexa glances out of the window to see it’s clear and sunny, a typical July day. It must be at least 80 degrees outside. That’s why she doesn’t hesitate when she seizes the end of the scarf and unravels it before Anya can protest.

“Oh. My. God!” Lexa crows, starting to laugh as she stares at the angry purple blotches that litter her friend’s neck. “How old are you, 14?”

“Shut up,” Anya hisses, pulling the scarf back up. “It’s not that bad.”

“It is,” Lexa insists, still laughing. “How are you going to hide this at work? Indra will kill you if she sees those,” she tacks on pointedly.

“No idea. Thought I’d try that costume shop around the block. Maybe some stage make-up will cover it.”

Lexa’s absolutely fine with the way this conversation is going. If Anya’s preoccupied then she can’t ask her any more probing questions about Clarke. It’s lucky really because it turns out the Anya sees straight through her lies and deflections.

 “Well was it worth it? Being marked by one of the undead?” Lexa teases.

Anya tries unsuccessfully to fight off a smile. “Totally.

“So go on,” Lexa says, sliding into the seat opposite. “Tell me all about it.”

Anya smiles widely before she starts singing Luna’s praises and goes into a full run-down of her night. Lexa smiles too as she listens, hoping that one day she’ll look this happy and carefree when talking about a girl. She dares to hope which girl that’s going to be.

 

 /////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

Clarke POV

 

 

“Griffin! Griffin, I hope you’re decent cause I’m comin’ in!”

Clarke groggily opens her eyes just as Raven bursts into the room and takes a running leap onto her bed. Except Raven trips over the own foot at the last second and sticks the landing, head-butting Clarke square in the stomach. She grunts and in retaliation shoves Raven with such force that the girl tumbles off the edge of the bed, muttering a litany of curses as she hits the floor.

“That was rude,” Raven grumbles as she climbs back onto the bed. “I was gonna suggest taking you out for waffles but after that ingratitude...”

“You just woke me up, charged into my room and went full quarterback on me,” Clarke retorts, lazily throwing a pillow which Raven dodges. “Sorry there was no red carpet welcome.”

“I accept your apology,” Raven grins, crawling up the bed until she’s straddling Clarke’s thighs. “Guess what?”

“Get off me,” Clarke huffs, giving her a feeble shove.

Raven pointedly ignores her. “Griffin, guess what?”

Clarke lets out an exaggerated sigh and props herself up on her elbows. “What?”

“Something happened last night, something amazing.”

“I know.”

“No Clarke, you’re not listening. It was O...she kissed me.”

“I know.”

“Like full on grabbed me by the front of my shirt and took my breath away kissed me.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. Raven’s the one who’s not listening. “Raven, I know. I saw. I’m pretty sure everyone at The Dropship saw.”

Raven’s grin slips for a fraction of a second before its back in place. “Oh, right...yeah. Guess we kinda forgot where we were. Sometimes you just get caught up in the moment, ya know?” she shrugs.

Clarke nods. She does know because she can’t help but draw parallels between her and Lexa. She thinks about how easy it was to get lost in kissing Lexa, chasing after her lips hungrily until her chest burned with the effort to breathe. So no, she can’t fault Raven or Octavia for being a little zealous.

“Congratulations for finally making a move,” Clarke teases, tongue between her teeth. “So...how do you feel?” she asks, adopting a more serious tone.

Raven pauses, chewing her lip in contemplation. “I feel...I don’t know how to describe it. Like fucking ecstatic but also kinda scared what’s gonna happen next.”

“That’s understandable,” Clarke says, offering her an encouraging smile. “So did you actually talk about it then? Your feelings?” she clarifies.

Raven sighs and flops into the space beside Clarke, looking up at the ceiling. “Not at such. I mean we’d had a lot to drink by that point. I basically just told her that I’ve pretty much been in love with her since the day we met and that she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Then she kissed me. Guess we’ll figure the rest out.”

Clarke chuckles lightly at that.

“Don’t laugh at me, Griffin,” Raven pouts, turning to face her. “I’m pouring my heart out here.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” Clarke promises, grasping her hand. “I’m just...in awe, honestly. How do you make it sound so easy?”

Raven shrugs. “O makes it easy. Telling her the truth wasn’t the hard bit - I just had to be brave enough to be honest with myself first. I mean, I could have done this ages ago if I’d just admitted how I felt instead of trying to pretend it wasn’t happening.”

Pretend it isn’t happening. Isn’t that exactly what she and Lexa are going to do? Kiss once and then pretend like it was enough? Whose terrible idea was that? Oh right, _hers_. She’s set herself up for a spectacular fall here because now that she’s had a taste she definitely wants another and then some.

“I’m proud of you, you know?” Clarke says, giving Raven’s hand a squeeze.

“Don’t be gay, Griffin,” Raven scoffs, though a faint blush appears on her cheeks.

“No I _am_ proud of you,” Clarke insists. “Not to get all sentimental with that ‘follow your heart’ bullshit but you had the courage to admit what you wanted and go after it. That takes guts.”

Raven’s lip wobbles and for a second she looks genuinely moved. Then her smirk creeps back into place. “Is this your way of telling me you were too much of a pussy to make a move on Commander Hotstuff?”

“I kissed her actually.”

She says it so matter-of-factly that Raven doesn’t catch on immediately

“Because I saw the way she was looking at you when you were dancing with...shut the fuck up!” Raven cries, sitting bolt upright. “You kissed her?!”

 “Yep,” Clarke confirms, popping the p. “Sure did.”

“How was it?”

“Honestly? Incredible.”

“Tell me everything.”

So Clarke does. She tells Raven how she danced with Bellamy to make Lexa jealous. Describes the terrible ‘once and we’ll stop’ plan right through to how she said goodnight with that frankly _extra_ kiss to the back of the hand.

“Wow,” Raven breathes out. “Well it’s been nice knowing you, Griffin. RIP and all that.”

Clarke brow crinkles when Raven hops off the bed and makes for the door. “Huh?”

“You’re done for,” Raven says, casting a sympathetic look from the doorway. “You’re so thirsty now that you’ll have died of dehydration before the project ends. Quick question, when you croak can I have your MacBook?” she tacks on.

Clarke stares blankly for a beat before her eyes narrow. She reaches for another cushion to hurl at Raven but the girl has already dashed into the sanctuary of the hallway.

“You’re a dick, Reyes,” Clarke shouts.

“You love it,” Raven’s disembodied voice calls. “Get your ass dressed, I’m taking you for waffles. Everyone on death row gets a last meal.”

Clarke groans and then sinks back into the pillow. Although her best friend is exaggerating, she’s correct to some degree. Realistically, how can she make it through six weeks without kissing Lexa again?

She reaches for her phone on the nightstand, pulse racing when she sees a goodnight text from an unknown number, surmising it must be Lexa. She catches herself grinning and then promptly stops. She can’t get carried away. They promised only once and that’s the way it has to be. It would cruel to try and temp Lexa into something further even if Clarke gets the feeling she wouldn’t mind. Their focus needs to be on the project and its success.

She stares up at the space mural on her ceiling, her mind full of conflicting thoughts about Lexa. She sighs audibly as she gazes at the constellations and then an idea hits her. She may not have the answer to everything, but she’s just found the inspiration for Polaris’s new logo.

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// 

 

“And so as you can see from our market research, the data shows the historically Polaris has an impressive record of...”

Clarke doesn’t know what Lexa’s talking about. She doesn’t know what Lexa’s talking about as she uses her presentation pointer to highlight the peaks on a graph but she knows she looks great while she’s doing it.

She’s such a terrible employee. Approximately 95% of her attention is focused on the curve of Lexa’s ass in the navy blue pencil skirt she’s wearing rather than the meeting at hand. It’s not her fault, honestly. How can she be expected not to look when the cut of the garment is so aesthetically pleasing? Though a quick glance around the room tells her no one else is having that same problem. They all seem to be listening intently to the presentation. Fools.

As Lexa opens the next slide and summarises their upcoming deadlines, she wonders what the brunette would look like when she’s truly in her element; addressing boardrooms full of stakeholders and directors. She imagines her stood there, hands clasped and head held high as she speaks with the eloquence and diplomacy of someone beyond her years.

She thinks of the power suits Lexa surely has in her arsenal – crisp white shirts and impeccably tailored blazers that fit her like a glove. Disappointingly she’s only seen Lexa in a suit twice. The first was when they met and the second was the day Lexa ordered her out of her office, her eyes flashing with barely controlled rage.

She’s been thinking about that day a lot lately - fantasising really. In her head the scenario takes a wild turn and culminates in Lexa fucking her into ecstasy on that ridiculously ornate desk. Turns out that’s a kink she didn’t know she had. Go figure.

She’s distracted when Octavia slides a neatly folded napkin in front of her. “You’re drooling,” she mouths, grinning wickedly.

Clarke shoots her the darkest scowl she can manage and slides it back with a muttered, “fuck off.”

Octavia’s grin doesn’t falter as she waggles her eyebrows suggestively. In fairness Octavia’s grin has been pretty much permanent since she stopped by the apartment yesterday to talk it out with Raven. Clarke didn’t’ ask for the details, but when they’d emerged from Raven’s room slightly puffy-eyed and holding hands, she didn’t need to. They’ll go at their own pace.

“So unless there are any further questions, that concludes our meeting,” Lexa says, turning to face the room. “Anyone who has yet to email me their progress reports, please do so by 4pm today. Thank you all for your time and continued hard work.”

There’s a general murmur of approval as people begin filing out of the room. Whilst she hadn’t been paying a great deal of attention, she knows they’re ahead of schedule on the project. Polaris’s new website interface is already half complete and the visual advertising team have made a strong start to their campaign.  

She’s going to contribute by pulling out all the stops this week to get the first draft of the new logo finished. It’ll be a lot of hard work but she’s determined to show Lexa what she’s made of and actions speak louder than words. Hold on, is she still referring to the project?

She’s just about to get up and follow Octavia from the room when Lexa stops her with a simple “Clarke, a word please.”

This is it, she thinks as Lexa crosses the boardroom to close the door behind the last person. This is the first time they’ve been alone together since the kiss. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous and simultaneously delighted. She’s been wondering whether to broach the subject now that they’re both sober and maybe flirt some more. 

However that thought leaves her head immediately when Lexa turns around and the pleased expression she’d been wearing for the duration of the meeting has vanished. It takes Clarke a moment to recognise it but then it clicks. For the first time ever, Lexa looks stressed.

“I’m not in trouble am I?” Clarke jokes.

Lexa shakes her head wearily.  “No, you’re not in trouble,” she reassures.

“Are you ok?” Clarke asks the concern prevalent in her tone. “You don’t look very happy. I thought you’d be pleased that we’re on schedule?”

“I am pleased. Beyond pleased,” Lexa confirms. She doesn't look it. “Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind today. Gustus called this morning to tell me my attendance is required in New York. I’m flying out tonight. Can’t say I’m a fan of these spur of the moment demands.”

“Tonight?” Clarke blurts out. “Does that mean you’ll have to miss the fundraiser?”

She doesn’t bother to mask the disappointment in her tone because it’s something she’s been looking forward to. Only because she’ll be there with Lexa, of course. She couldn’t give a flying fuck about the event itself.

“No. It’s a fleeting visit, I’ll be back Thursday evening. The only problem is I won’t be here to prep you on the event etiquette,” Lexa explains, leaning heavily against the desk. “I was hoping we’d have more time,"she says dejectedly. 

Clarke hates seeing her so put out but at the same time, she's touched that Lexa feels comfortable enough to let her guard down around her. She doubts Lexa would let her mask of professionalism slip in front of anyone else besides Anya. She's not entirely sure when they reached this point. Was it when the elevator broke down? When they kissed?  She can't pinpoint it but she decides there and then that it’s her mission to make Lexa feel better.

“So prep me now. I’m a fast learner,” Clarke breezes, slouching in her seat. “Though FYI, I already know how to smile nicely and keep my mouth shut.”

Lexa smiles wryly. “You haven’t been to a fundraiser before, have you?”

Clarke shakes her head.

“They’re a lot like pageants. Imagine the corporate version of Miss Universe,” Lexa explains, pausing thoughtfully. “There’s a certain level of fineness to successfully navigating a fundraiser.”

“Ok, well first of all I have bags of finesse so jot that down,” Clarke chimes in. “Next.”

“Cute,” Lexa remarks dryly. “Try to be serious please.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

Clarke straightens in her seat but doesn’t miss the way Lexa’s lips quirk in amusement.

“We are representing Trikru so we need to be vigilant, charismatic and figuratively kissing ass at all times. The company is relying on us to make a good impression and strengthen business connections – there are going to be a lot of key players in attendance on Saturday.”

“Got it. Quick question though - will _the company_ mind if I take advantage of the free champagne I expect will be there?” Clarke teases, tongue between her teeth.

Lexa’s gaze flits down to her mouth for the briefest of seconds before she blushes and looks away again. Clarke feels a jolt of satisfaction. Good to see she’s not the only one with an unquenchable thirst.

“Polaris are known for their extravagance, so yes, by all means indulge in the complimentary drinks. Just don’t go overboard. This isn’t happy hour at The Dropship,” Lexa jokes, cocking an eyebrow.

Clarke feigns offence at Lexa’s jibe but then adopts a serious expression as Lexa goes through the do’s and don’ts of the evening. It turns out there’s a hell of a lot to remember. Lexa reels off names various companies and sponsors that she doesn’t recognise but she nods along as though she does. She’s going to have to do some serious background research before the weekend.

“So I think that’s about everything,” Lexa says around 10 minutes later. “Is there anything you’re not clear on?”

Clarke feels exhausted just listening to it all. Her brain is frazzled. There is one thing she’s been wondering though...

“Erm, yes. Do you need to know what I’m going to wear?”

Lexa’s smirk is slow and deliberate. “We don’t need to coordinate outfits, Clarke. This isn’t senior prom.”

Clarke blushes furiously. “No, no I uh, I just didn’t want us to clash if we’re going to be sat together. I'm also kind of worried nothing I own is classy enough.”

“Well its classic black tie. I’ll be wearing a suit if that helps?”

It doesn’t help. Now she’s going to be torturing herself with those mental images for the rest of the week.

“I’m sorry to run out on you but I really have to get going,” Lexa says, glancing at her watch. “I was supposed to be in a meeting with finance ten minutes ago. Anything else we can run through in the car on the way to the fundraiser, ok? My driver will pick you up at 6:30.”

Clarke nods. “6:30, got it. I hope it goes well in New York.”

“Thanks,” Lexa says distractedly, hastily gathering up her laptop. “I’ll be back in the office on Friday but we probably won't see each other. I have back to back meetings all day.”

Clarke nods and then turns her attention to gathering up her own things. It’s going to be another long week without Lexa around for most of it. She wishes she wasn’t quite so disappointed by the prospect.

“Oh and Clarke?” Lexa calls from the doorway.

“Yes?”

“I’m sure you’ll look beautiful whatever you choose to wear,” Lexa says, holding her gaze pointedly for a few seconds before disappearing from sight.

Clarke sits for a moment in stunned silence, staring at the now empty doorway. Damn, Lexa has game after all. Woods 1, Griffin 0.

 

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

She’s tried. So very, very tired. A glance at the clock tells her it’s approaching seven and outside the sun is just beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow about the workspace. Everyone else clocked out three hours ago, leaving the office eerily silent. Now it’s just her, the low steady hum of the computer monitor and her sketchbook full of designs.

She can’t believe she’s giving up her Friday night to work late. Actually, she can. She’s worked until at least six thirty every night this week, only taking the cue to go home when the cleaner makes the rounds with his exceptionally noisy vacuum cleaner.

The Clarke Griffin of days gone by would have mocked her openly for such behaviour. But that Clarke didn’t have an incredibly gorgeous boss to impress, or the knowledge that the failure of this project will have devastating repercussions for a lot of people. Really though, she doesn’t actually mind. Being given creative freedom has lead to her rediscovering a passion for design. She supposes she has Lexa to thank for that.

Speaking of Lexa, hasn’t seen her since Monday. Though Lexa’s back in the office she’s been occupied with various meetings and conferences behind closed doors. At least tomorrow at the Fundraiser they’ll have time to talk a little.

She flips through her sketchbook to the back, past the logo designs to her own personal drawings. They’re mostly of her friends, quick sketches of Raven, Octavia and Monty that she’d drawn on one of their lazy hangout days.

On the very last page there’s one of a certain brunette, sharp cheekbones and that unforgettable jawline immortalised in charcoal. She runs her fingers over it fondly. It’s not her best work but it holds a special place in her heart - drawn from the memory of that fateful afternoon trapped in the elevator.

She yawns loudly and feels her eyes start to sting with the effort to stay open. Perhaps a quick power nap will be beneficial. 10 minutes to rest her eyes, that’s all she needs. Then she can get straight back to work. She’ll set an alarm on her phone just to be sure.

 

 

 

“Clarke.”

Lexa’s voice is soft as she calls out to her, so close it feels almost real. She squeezes her eyes shut more firmly in a bid to stay in the dream. Lately her dreams have been full of Lexa. She supposes that’s only natural considering most of her waking moments are full of Lexa too.

“Clarke, it’s time to wake up.”

Lexa’s voice is soft but the hand that gently strokes her face is softer still. It’s so comforting she nuzzles into the touch, smiling lazily as her cheek caresses the smooth skin of an imaginary palm. Why must her own brain taunt her with illusions like this? Her subconscious is a cruel mistress.

“Just five more minutes, Lexa,” Clarke murmurs sleepily. “Come back to bed.”

There’s a pause then. The hand against her cheek stills at once and then withdraws completely.

“Clarke, you’re not in bed,” Lexa’s voice is clearer this time, closer. “You fell asleep at your desk. It’s almost 9 o’clock.”

Her eyes fly open, blinking rapidly as she tries to make sense of the situation. Above her Lexa stands still, her expression completely neutral though Clarke can clearly see the blush on her cheeks even in the limited light dusk affords.

It was real. Lexa calling out to her, her rubbing her face with greedy desire against Lexa’s hand –it was all real. She’s embarrassed both of them. She’s mortified. 

“Fuck. I’m so sorry,” Clarke splutters, springing to her feet. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Well I _did_ but it was only supposed to be for ten minutes and that was two hours ago... and I must have forgotten to set an alarm on my phone and-”

“Clarke, it’s ok,” Lexa insists, lips lifting in a small smile. “I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve fallen asleep at my desk, it’s no big deal.”

“Really?”

Lexa nods and although Clarke suspects she’s just trying to make her feel better, she allows herself to relax a little. She takes a moment to breathe, attempting to steady her racing pulse. It’s no easy feat when Lexa’s looking at her with a kind of fondness to her expression and warmth in her eyes. She wonders if there’s any kind of light Lexa isn’t completely captivating in. Probably not. She’s a goddess in the guise of a woman.

“What were you still doing here after hours?” Lexa asks. “I thought everyone left at four on Friday?”

Clarke shrugs. “They do but I stayed late to work on my designs,” she says, jerking her thumb at her sketchbook. “I’ve been staying late every night this week,” she admits sheepishly.

Lexa stares at her for a beat, mouth hanging slightly open. “I’m impressed. There aren’t many who would sacrifice their free time for the sake of a project.”

Clarke just smirks. “Guess I must have a pretty inspiring leader.”

Okay so she’s tired, but she’s never too tired not to flirt. Not when the way Lexa bites down on her lower lip in the effort not to smile is her reward. That reaction alone is worth feeling exhausted.

“Anyway I could ask you the same thing,” Clarke tacks on, giving her an out. “Why are you here so late?”

To her credit, Lexa recovers quickly. “I was at a business meeting downtown and just came back to grab a few files. So can I see these _inspiring_ designs?” she asks, reaching past Clarke for the sketchbook. “I’d like to know what all these extra hours have-”

Clarke’s life flashes before her eyes. She left the sketchbook open. She left it open on the page with Lexa’s drawing on it. Lexa’s drawing which is now in Lexa’s hands as she peers down at it. She watches in silent discomfort when the smile slides from Lexa’s face as her eyes trail across the page.

“That’s uh, that’s not finished yet,” Clarke offers weakly.

When Lexa looks up her expression is nigh on impossible to place. There’s confusion, surprise and perhaps maybe something a little like realisation in her eyes. It makes Clarke’s heart ache and her hands tremble.

Reason tells her to play it off but every fibre of her being screams at her to step forward, take Lexa’s face in her hands and kiss her like she deserves to be kissed. She’s about to give into impulse when the cleaner, late but nevertheless dutiful, announces his arrival with that infernal vacuum cleaner.

“I believe that’s our cue to leave,” Lexa says, closing the sketchbook and setting it back down on the desk. “Do you need a hand with your things?”

Clarke shakes her head. “No its fine, I just have this and my bag,” she says, tucking the sketchbook under her arm.

“Good, then let’s get out of here,” Lexa says, gesturing for her to go first.

Perhaps they can ignore the fact that Lexa saw the drawing just like they're ignoring the fact that they kissed. Maybe this could be their thing; ignoring the painfully obvious together. What a fantastic shared hobby.

She’s not sure if she’s being paranoid or if Lexa’s eyes really are on her as they walk out of the office. Either way she walks a little slower than she usually would, purposely exaggerating the sway of her hips. You know, just in case.

She doesn’t think twice about pushing the call button for the elevator when they reach the fifth floor foyer. It doesn’t become apparent in her tired brain that this is a problem for Lexa until the doors are sliding open.

“Are you seriously getting in the elevator after what happened last week?” Lexa asks in utter disbelief. “Don’t you think that’s tempting fate?”

Clarke smirks. “Don’t they say lightening only strikes once?” Lexa gives her a withering look. “Besides, I can’t handle the thought of traipsing down 200 stairs right now.”

“It’s 186 steps actually,” Lexa points out smugly. Clarke rolls her eyes. “And I’d choose them over the claustrophobic metal box any day. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“What, you mean you don’t wanna go down on me?” Clarke counters teasingly.

When Lexa’s jaw drops and her eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline, Clarke realises her mistake.

“ _With me_!” Clarke blurts out, covering her face with her hands. “Jesus fuck. I meant go down _with_ me in the elevator. Not the other...I didn’t mean it the other way. Oh god, please just fucking ignore me-”

She slowly moves her hands away from her face when a noise that sounds unmistakably like a snort emanates from Lexa. When she feels brave enough to look up she sees Lexa is admirably trying to fight off laughter, her lips clamped together and shoulders shaking with the effort to do so.

“Relax, I’m not reporting you to HR,” Lexa reassures, a grin breaking out across her face. “I won’t be _going down_ the road of disciplinary action.”

Clarke switches from feeling embarrassed to sulking in record time. “You know it’s not very nice to make fun of me when I’m trying to apologise,” she pouts, hands on her hips. “It was just a slip of the tongue.”

Poor choice of words.

Lexa loses it, throwing her head back as her laughter echoes mockingly in the quiet of the building. Clarke decides she’s had enough and punches the button for the ground floor, still pouting in Lexa’s direction as the doors slide closed.

When the elevator reaches the third floor mark she’s smiling to herself. Ok, so it _was_ pretty funny even if the joke is at her expense. She's on a roll tonight. Between falling asleep, Lexa discovering her drawing and an unintentional oral sex joke, she's three for three. Yet the fact they’re comfortable enough with each other to make light of awkward situations is yet more proof they’re more alike than originally thought. She mentally ticks ‘outstanding sense of humor’ off her prospective partner checklist.

Somehow Lexa is working her way down the final flight of steps just as she emerges from the elevator. She wonders if Lexa ran down just to ensure they arrived at the same time. Lexa doesn’t look like she’s been running at all when she flashes a suggestive smile, eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Don’t say a word,” Clarke warns, a smile tugging at her lips.

Lexa hums and then reaches into her pocket for her ID badge, scanning it across the sensor to open the door to the parking lot. Clarke goes to do the same. Only her ID badge isn’t in her pocket.

“Wait hang on a sec,” Clarke frowns, checking her other pocket. “Ugh, I can’t find my pass. I had it on my desk earlier.”

She starts to panic, frantically searching her pockets again in case it’s magically appeared. Indra’s going to kill her. Everyone has a personal ID that grants access to the building. The company can track who goes where at what time and also who’s in the office that day in case of a fire or some equally unfortunate incident. If you lose a pass you’re supposed to report it to IT immediately so a new one can be issued.

Lexa’s hand on her shoulder stills her movements. “Clarke, you’re tired. You probably packed it away into your bag earlier without thinking about it,” Lexa rationalises. “If you can’t find it when you get home, ask for a new one on Monday.”

Clarke furrows her brow. “But I’m supposed to inform-”

“You’re informing me,” Lexa says with an air of finality. “And as your boss, I’m telling you it’s ok, ok?”

The soft smile on Lexa’s lips sends a wave of relief washing over her. “Ok,” Clarke agrees.

“Good,” Lexa says, ushering her into the parking lot. “Now get yourself home and have an early night. I need you to be well rested for tomorrow.”

“Right, see you tomorrow,” Clarke tells her, pausing awkwardly. She’s not quite sure how to say goodbye to Lexa these days. The rules aren’t clear.

“Remember to text me with what color corsage you want, ok?” Lexa says. Then she winks and turns on her heel, striding away in the direction of her car. “Goodnight, Clarke.”

Clarke stares after her for a moment, jaw hanging slack in awe of such blatant flirting.

Woods 2, Griffin 0.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers for reading!  
> Please let me know if you like how the story's progressing - love to hear your thoughts.  
> Next update might be a while as my life is about to get crazy busy :(


	13. Its not a party until the feelings come out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you. I continue to be overwhelmed by the response to this fic.  
> You may ask yourself, what kind of idiot says they're busy and writes a nearly 12k chapter?  
> Me. This idiot.   
> Anyway, I shirked my responsibilities to give you this chapter of Clarke POV.  
> Enjoy!

Clarke POV

 

Clarke huffs as she scowls at her reflection in the fitting room mirror. She hates shopping. This is the ninth dress she’s tried on this afternoon and it looks about as good as the rest had, i.e. awful.

Raven and Octavia would insist otherwise as they had about all the other garments, telling her she looked great each time she stepped out of the fitting room. They sounded like they meant it too. Though now as she drags them around the third department store of the day, she gets the feeling they’d tell her she looks fantastic in a garbage bag just to make this prolonged retail torture end.

“What about that one, Griffin?” Raven calls from outside. “Any good?”

“No, it’s the worst one yet,” Clarke groans, pulling the dress over her head. “I don’t know why I even tried it on. Who ever heard of a yellow evening dress?”

“Hey! I picked that one,” Octavia protests. “Excuse me for thinking it would compliment your skin tone. Actually let me see for myself cus your judgement can’t be trusted.”

Clarke huffs again and struggles against the material that’s now halfway over her head. “Wait a second, I just need to-”

Too late. The sound of squeaking hinges tell her the door has been opened before she can get the rest of her sentence out. She doesn’t mind Raven and Octavia seeing her in her underwear; years of college means they’ve seen each other in a lot less, but she’d rather not treat half the store to such an intimate view.

“Shut the door,” Clarke hisses, struggling to work herself free of the dress. It’s wedged on pretty good. “I swear I’m not letting you come shopping with me again. You both total fucking nightmares.”

“Relax, we closed it already,” Octavia counters, stepping forward to help her. “And I think you’ll find you pretty much begged us to come with you. We did this out of the goodness of our hearts.”

She decides to hold her tongue and not point out that the pair of them spent most of the morning making googly eyes at each other and stealing kisses when they thought she wasn’t looking. They are so nauseatingly cute she can’t bring herself to chastise them.

“Nice undies, Griffin,” Raven says dryly. Clarke can hear the smirk in her voice. “You wearing those later? I wouldn’t recommend it unless Commander Hotstuff has a secret penchant for DC.”

She’s scowling at Raven just as soon as Octavia frees her from the confines of the disastrous yellow dress. She’s not embarrassed by the Batgirl boyshorts she’d elected to wear – they’re her favourite. Besides she’s willing to bet Lexa’s the kind of nerd who’s into comic books. She does, however, take offence at Raven’s insinuation

 “Obviously not,” Clarke says, pointedly crossing her arms. It’s difficult with the three of them cramped into such a small space. “And anyway Lexa’s not going to be anywhere near my... _that_ area so it doesn’t matter,” she counters as Raven grins wickedly.

Neither of the need to know she’s got a matching pink lingerie set picked out at home. You know, just in case. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail. That’s a mantra as old as time itself.

“You’re not fooling us,” Raven grins. “You already told us that you kissed-”

“Something which I told you in confidence,” Clarke snaps.

Raven ignores her tone. “Yeah, whatever. The point is you’ve already dipped a toe into the forbidden pool by kissing. Might as well give into your Sapphic desires and dive right in, Smeagol.”

Clarke’s about to tell Raven exactly where she can shove her dated Lord of the Rings references when she’s saved the bother.

“Babe, don’t be mean to Clarke. We’re supposed to be helping her, not mocking her,” Octavia scolds.

Clarke can’t tell whether Raven’s blushing at the term of endearment or over the fact she’s being told off like a child. She sends a superior smirk in Raven’s direction regardless. God bless Octavia Blake.

“Besides if she wants to keep lying to herself and pretend they’re not gonna give into the thirst then let her,” Octavia tacks on. “Just means we can say ‘we told ya so’ when it inevitably happens.”

God damn Octavia Blake.

“I hate you both,” Clarke pouts.

“Nah, you love us,” Raven counters. “You’re right about that dress though. It is awful. Sorry, O.”

Octavia shrugs. “You’re both blind to fashion, what can I say? How about the red one?” she asks, pointing at one of several dresses on the rail.

“I’m not even trying that on,” Clarke dismisses.

“Why? Cus I picked it?” Raven scoffs.

“No, because I’m going to a charity fundraiser, not a fucking strip club,” Clarke deadpans. “It’s way too short.”

She knows she’s being snappy but they’ve been shopping for hours now with nothing to show for it. At this rate she _will_ be going in the Batgirl undies and nothing else.

“Yeah but you want to make Lexa stare,” Octavia chimes in before Raven can add her own smartass retort. “You don’t want something too conservative. I mean if I had your assets I’d definitely be showcasing them.”

“She’s talking about your boobs,” Raven intones gleefully.

Clarke rolls her eyes. They’ve never going to get anywhere at this rate. Everything she’s tried on has either been too short, too low cut or just plain unflattering in her opinion. Perhaps she’s set her standards too high and should just-

“This. This is the one,” Octavia says, holding up a navy blue number. “Quick, put it on.”

Clarke has no say in the matter as the two of them step forward to pull the yellow dress over her head and pull the navy one down in its place. She’s about to admonish them for their excessive manhandling when she catches sight of herself in the mirror. Octavia’s right. This is the one. Its floor length with an elegant knot front that shows just enough cleavage and a ruched empire line to compliment her hourglass figure. It’s perfect.

Raven wolf-whistles. “Hot damn, Clarke. You look amazing.”

She’s inclined to agree.

“You may thank me now,” Octavia says with a wry smile.

“Thank you,” Clarke nods, smiling gratefully. “I can’t believe I found a dress that looks this good for-”

Her eyes almost bug out of her head when she sees the label. $250. It’s twice her allocated budget. Far too expensive for something she probably won’t wear again.

“Ah ah ah, I see that look. Do not even think about not getting the dress,” Raven warns. “We just got paid yesterday. Treat. Yo. Self.”

Tempting, but frivolous. She looks pleadingly to Octavia for advice with her being the less spontaneous out of two of them.

Octavia shakes her head. “Lexa’s going to lose her mind when she sees you in that dress.”

That’s all the convincing she needs. 10 minutes and 250 dollars later, she’s the proud owner of a new evening gown. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen tonight, but she knows she’ll have Lexa’s eyes on her for the duration.

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// 

 

Abby Griffin has a habit of calling at the most inconvenient of times. Today is no exception it seems because her Mom decides to ring at 6:25, just as she’s frantically searching for the pair of heels she knows will match her dress. The timing is terrible but she can’t exactly hang up, not when their relationship is just getting back on track.

“What are you doing?” Abby’s voice is laced with curiosity. “You sound out of breath.”

“I’m looking for ah-ha, found it,” Clarke smirks, holding up one of the elusive black pumps.

“Found what?”

“I’m trying to find my good heels,” Clarke replies distractedly, crouching down to search under her bed. “You know the ones you and Dad bought me for graduation?”

“I remember. You wore them for a grand total of two hours and then complained they were pinching your feet,” Abby chuckles. There’s a pause on the other end of the phone. “Are you going out on a date?”

She wishes.

“No, I’m painfully single as always,” Clarke says as her hand closes around the other shoe. “It’s some fundraising gala that my boss invited me to. It sounds fancy so I’m gonna try and convince people that I’m not a walking disaster masquerading as a human woman.”

Abby makes a noise of disapproval. “I know you think the self deprecation is funny, Clarke, but you’re too hard on yourself.”

“Mom, I don’t actually mean-”

“You’ve got a good job, a nice apartment and you’re surrounded by friends who love you,” Abby continues, talking over her. “All you need to do stay positive and the rest will come eventually. Just go at your own pace ok, there’s no time limit on happiness.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. She knows her mother means well but she also knows that “the rest” and “happiness” are thinly veiled allusions to a relationship. They’ve had conversations like this before. Her mother doesn’t seem able to grasp that she’s fine on her own. She doesn’t _need_ anyone that way. She’s managed so far. Though sometimes she can’t help but think having someone to wake up next to would be nice. Whatever, it’ll happen when it happens.

“Not to be rude but were you calling for a reason or just to catch up? Because I have,” Clarke glances at the clock, “Two minutes before Lexa’s driver shows up so I can call you back tomorrow if-”

“Actually I just wanted to know if you were bringing a plus one to the wedding?”

Ugh, the wedding. With everything going on work-wise she’d pushed it to the back of her mind. It’s hard to believe it’s a little over two months away.

“Marcus and I are putting together the seating arrangements so we need an exact number,” Abby continues. “If you’re unsure I can-”

“Yeah, put me down for a plus one.”

She says it without really thinking. If push comes to shove she can drag Bellamy or even Monty along for moral support. Anything beats turning up alone.

“Really?” her mom sounds surprised. “Who are you going to-”

Mercifully the doorbell rings to save her from an awkward and mostly fabricated explanation.

“Gotta go, Mom. Love you, bye.”

Ok, so that was a little abrupt but she doesn’t have time to field questions she doesn’t know the answer to.

Slipping on her heels, she picks up her clutch bag and heads for the door, remembering to grab her key on the way. There’s no Raven in the apartment tonight, she’d sauntered off to Octavia’s after their shopping trip. Clarke had ignored her whispered parting remarks about how at least one of them was going to get lucky tonight and the wink that followed thereafter.

When she opens the front door her breath catches in her throat. She’s expecting to see the shiny black limo parked on the street outside, that’s a given. She isn’t expecting Lexa herself to be stood on her doorstep. Her eyes widen in surprises when Lexa smiles up at her, the step between them putting the brunette at a slight height disadvantage.

 Clarke isn’t sure where to look first. She’s spoiled for choice because Lexa, for lack of a better term, looks fucking unreal. In a fitted black suit and crisp white shirt it’s as if she walked straight out of Clarke’s fantasies just to test her resolve. Her eyes trail unabashedly over Lexa’s body, lingering for long seconds on the gorgeous curve of her hips before flitting down impossibly long legs that end in a pair of spectacular black heels. In that moment she mentally praises Lexa’s tailor. The man is an artist.

Forcing her gaze back to eye-level, she tries to compose herself with little success. Lexa wears her hair down in loose waves and it looks incredibly soft swept over one shoulder, revealing the long line of her neck. She’s hyperaware of the way her fingers twitch to reach out and caress the smooth skin just to know what it would feel like.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she turns her attention to those captivating green eyes which are tonight rimmed expertly with charcoal. It somehow makes Lexa’s piercing gaze even more intense than usual. The familiar feeling of arousal that grows in the pit of her stomach becomes all the more difficult to ignore; especially when she’s having downright sinful thoughts about peeling that suit off Lexa’s body. How satisfying it would be to see it lying crumpled on her bedroom floor.

“Good evening,” Lexa says pointedly, flashing a wide smile.

Fuck, she’s been caught staring like the thirst monster she is.

“Hi!” Clarke says a little too loudly. “You look wow. Uh, I mean the suit, it suits you.”

Dear fucking Christ, someone save her from hersef.

Lexa chuckles lightly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Thank you. You look very wow yourself,” she says, pausing to do a quick sweep of Clarke’s attire. They’re such dorks. “That dress is absolutely stunning on you, truly gorgeous.”

Correction, she’s a dork, Lexa is smooth.

“Thanks,” is all Clarke manages before dropping her gaze to the floor.

She wills herself not to blush but it doesn’t work. Lexa could probably tell her she looks like garbage in that silky voice of hers and she’d still blush like an idiot. This crush, or whatever it might be, is taking over her life.

Lexa clears her throat. “Are you ready to go? The car is waiting.”

Clarke falters for a second at the arm that’s offered to her before sliding her hand around Lexa’s bicep with a shy smile. It’s not a date, she reminds herself. It’s a company sponsored event. It’s not a date. It feels like a date.

It feels even more like one when Lexa holds the car door open for her. It’s a polite gesture that shouldn’t make her heart beat quite so fast but it is what it is. And what it is, is gay.

The car peels away in the direction of the city and she allows herself a moment to marvel at the interior. She’s in awe. Plush leather seats, tinted windows and a mini bar – this is what luxury looks like.

“You ok?” Lexa asks, throwing her a curious glance. “You’re awfully quiet.”

Clarke nods. “Yeah, I guess I’m a little nervous. Plus I’ve never been in a limo before,” she admits. “I kind of feel like a rock star.”

Lexa’s lips pull into a smile as she turns to face her, one arm slung over the back of the seat. “And what kind of rock star do you feel like? Beyonce? Lady Gaga?”

Clarke makes a face. “Those aren’t rock stars. They’re icons, don’t get me wrong, but rock stars? No.”

“Ah, a music snob,” Lexa teases. “So go on, indulge me. What kind of music is a woman of refined taste like Clarke Griffin into?”

Clarke smiles at their playful flirty banter. She could get used to this, having Lexa to herself and talking about trivial things as though the boundaries keeping them apart don’t exist when they’re alone.

“Stuff like The Beach Boys and Bruce Springsteen mostly.”

Lexa snorts. “So songs about cars and girls? Typical surfer music.”

Clarke grins. “Well I have been known to carve a sick wave or two,” she teases. This time Lexa pulls a face. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve never surfed?”

Lexa shakes her head.

“What, never?” Clarke presses, eyebrows rising. “How can you grow up in California and not go surfing?”

“My teenagers years were more about bible study and less about actual fun,” Lexa shrugs. “I never got the chance.”

The hint of sadness in Lexa’s tone pulls at something in Clarke’s chest. She hadn’t forgotten what little Lexa had divulged about her childhood but she never really considered how it must have restricted every aspect of her life. She makes a decision.

“Well I’m going to take you one day,” Clarke declares, smiling widely. “We’ll take a day trip down to Huntington Beach and I’ll teach you the basics. Though is it mean if I’m kind of hoping you’re bad at it? You seem to be good at everything else so there _has_ to be something you suck at.”

Lexa’s smile is genuine. “It could be the _one_ thing,” she teases. “And that does sound like fun but I don’t think I’m going to have much time for surfing whilst the project is running.”

“Maybe after?” Clarke suggests.

It’s a weighted question. Maybe after, when all this is over and we’re not prohibited by ridiculous unwritten office codes. Maybe after, when we stop pretending it doesn’t hurt not to act on our feelings. Maybe after, when we’re free do to whatever the hell we want.

“Maybe after,” Lexa repeats softly.

A silence falls between them and Clarke turns her gaze to the window, watching the city rush past in a blur of neon lights. The nearer they get to the hotel where the fundraiser is being held, the more nervous she becomes. It turns out representing the company is a lot of pressure. She can only hope that she doesn’t say or do anything to embarrass herself or Lexa.

She guesses Lexa is nervous too from the slight crease of her brow and the way her teeth worry her lower lip. Lexa’s probably been to hundreds of these events but none of them have carried quite the same level of gravitas. There are jobs on the line here, people’s livelihoods. The burden of knowing she can’t reach out and touch the woman beside her, maybe squeeze her hand in reassurance only makes it worse.

She wonders if she should say something about the feeling of dread gnawing away at her over a question unanswered. It’s something that’s been at the forefront of her mind for weeks, ever since Lexa invited her. It’s a touchy subject, but if she doesn’t ask it now, she never will.

“You said Azgeda will be there tonight?”

Lexa stiffens, fingernails digging into the leather seat. “Yes.”

Clarke gives her a sideways glance. “Will Nia?”

Lexa nods. “Yes. She will be attending with her daughter, Ontari,” there’s a beat of silence before Lexa turns to look at her. “That’s why I was summoned to New York at the last minute. Gustus wanted to make sure I was fully prepped for any eventuality. Usually Nia doesn’t bother attending these functions herself but with so much at stake it looks like she decided to slither out from under her rock.”

Now she understands why Lexa had seemed so stressed earlier in the week. She should have known it wasn’t over the project. It’s because she has to face the woman she’s deemed her nemesis for whatever reason...which brings her to her next question.

“Are you going to tell me about that?” Clarke ventures carefully. “About what Nia did?” she tacks on. “Because if there’s something I need to know that will affect the project then-”

Lexa shakes her head and throws her what she probably thinks is a convincing smile. But Clarke’s not blind. She can see the pain and sadness swirling around in those beautiful emerald irises. “You let me worry about Nia Queen. She won’t cause any trouble. Just...just promise me you’ll stay out of her way?”

Clarke doesn’t hesitate in her reply of, “I promise.”

Lexa’s keeping something from her but she has no right to demand what it is. They’re not girlfriends, hell she’s not even strictly sure if they’re classed as friends. But she does trust Lexa, and if Lexa says it’s ok then she has to believe it will be.

 

 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

Clarke can’t believe her eyes when the hotel porter holds the door open for them to enter. If she’s thought the limo was luxurious then this place is downright decadent. She takes it all in, lips parted in wonder as her heels tap rhythmically against the polished marble floor.

The decor is lavishly Baroque in its execution. Everywhere she looks there’s an abundance of ivory and gold. The overall effect is close to regal, as though she’d stepped into some far flung European church rather than a hotel in central LA. From the Grecian columns that support the entrance hall’s domed ceiling to the chandeliers that hang high above her head, she knows she’ll never step foot in a place quite so majestic again.

“You’ll start catching flies if you’re not careful,” Lexa whispers amusedly, her breath hot again the shell of Clarke’s ear. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

_Not as beautiful as you_ , Clarke almost says. Instead she blushes for what she’s sure won’t be the final time this evening and nods. She imagines she must have looked quite the fool, gawking openly at their ornate surroundings. She hopes she doesn’t look as gormless whenever she stares at Lexa.

“Shall we?” Lexa says, gesturing to the staircase.

Lexa gently lets go of her arm, putting a little space between them. She knows it’s for the sake of appearances, they’re here on business not pleasure, but she can’t help but miss the contact.

The grand staircase they’re climbing looks like something straight out of a movie. In fact, it reminds her of-

“Hey, you know what this reminds me of?”

“Titanic?” Lexa guesses, a wry smile upon her lips.

Clarke mirrors her expression. “How did you know?”

“I thought the same thing as soon as we walked in.”

“Really?” Clarke asks, intrigued. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a fan of tragic romances.”

Yes she would. They’re basically living in one.

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a good love story,” Lexa shrugs. “Even ones that are painfully heterosexual.”

Clarke laughs as they reach the coat check that precedes the ballroom. One of the enormous banners advertising the fundraiser tells her that the charity they’re raising money for offers help and support to homeless LGBT youth. As far as causes go, is definitely one of the better ones.

“Who picks the charity?” Clarke asks as they check their belongings.

“That would be Becca Bishop,” Lexa says. Clarke knows that name at least; she’s the director of Polaris. “She picks a different charity every year. Last year the money raised went to a women’s shelter in New York.”

Clarke is silently impressed. “Will she be here tonig-”

Her question dies on her lips as they enter the ballroom.

The decor in here is distinctly different to that of the foyer but no less impressive. Before them stand a sea of circular tables, each centred with detailed ice sculptures and magnificent floral displays. A closer look at the sculpture nearest to them confirms her suspicions. It’s a small scale model of a Polaris luxury hotel. She surmises each table must house a different intricately carved building. Someone has gone to a hell of a lot of effort here. 

Beyond the tables lies the stage, vacant save for a podium sat front and centre. Another glance around the room reveals several red velvet drapes embossed with the current (and frankly ugly) Polaris logo. Everything about this set-up screams ‘fancy’ at her. She feels way out of her depth. Where’s that free champagne?

“I hate to abandon you right away but I have to go and pledge Trikru’s donation to the organisers,” Lexa says, turning to face her. “I promise I won’t be long.”

Clarke smiles fondly at the worried creases that appear on Lexa’s forehead. “It’s fine, go ahead,” she reassures. “Though just a warning, leaving me unattended at an open bar might not have been your most strategic move, commander.”

“Maybe that’s exactly my strategy,” Lexa teases.

“Trying to get me drunk, eh?” Clarke teases right back. Its more than a little flirty. “Well if that is your plan I hope you’re ready to take full responsibility if party animal Clark Griffin makes an appearance.”

Lexa chuckles lightly. “I’m sure I could handle her.”

“Oh I have no doubt you could,” Clarke murmurs lowly.

Then she’s wordlessly taking a step closer, hands confidently reaching up to straighten Lexa’s tie. Lexa doesn’t flinch away but Clarke doesn’t miss the almost inaudible gasp Lexa lets out as her knuckles ‘accidentally’ brush against the soft skin beneath her jaw. In such close proximity she can see the bob of Lexa’s throat as she swallows hard and she can certainly feel Lexa’s gaze burning into her.

Job done, she takes a step back, letting her hands linger for a second longer before dropping back to her sides. She feels a jolt of satisfaction when green eyes dart down to her lips and stay there for long seconds. It’s cruel but she senses her advantage, slowly sinking her teeth into her lower lip as she smiles. Lexa’s jaw drops almost immediately.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Clarke asks sweetly.

Lexa startles as though awakened from a daydream. “Uh, yes I’d – I’d better just,” she stammers, gesturing vaguely to the other side of the room. “I’m just gonna...”

She giggles as Lexa turns away and almost runs straight into a waiter carrying a tray of champagne, hastily excusing herself as she transverses the room. She plucks one of the champagne flutes as the now disgruntled looking waiter passes by. Bringing it to her lips she allows herself a moment of silent victory.

If Lexa thinks she’s getting through this night unscathed after all her blatant flirting yesterday, she’s sorely mistaken. Clarke Griffin doesn’t like losing. Time to level the playing field.

 

 

 ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

There’s something oddly calming about leaning against the bar, sipping on champagne and just watching people in all their finery. It’s too early to contribute her feeling of relative ease to the alcohol buzz. It’s probably everything to do with Lexa being stood just a few feet away, back turned as she orders herself a drink.

“Clarke Griffin?”

She looks up from the bottom of her glass, ears recognising the familiar voice before her eyes can catch up.

“Thelonious?”

And it is. She can’t believe it. Thelonious Jaha, long time family friend and father of her childhood best friend, Wells, is sanding before her, grinning broadly.

“I thought it was you from across the room,” Jaha beams, moving forward to pull her into a brief embrace. “Gosh it’s been years -  look at how much you’ve grown! So much of your mother in you,” he says, holding her at arm’s length. “But your eyes...you’ve got Jake’s eyes, no doubt about it.”

Clarke’s chest swells with pride at the mention of her father. She tries to play off the giddy feeling with some light humour. “You’re making out like you haven’t seen me since I used to play in the sandbox with Wells,” she chuckles. “What are you doing here anyway? Last I heard you were working in New York?”

“Still working in New York but I’m actually hosting this fundraiser in the absence of our director,” Jaha says. Clarke stares blankly. “I’m the new Executive Vice President at Polaris now. Didn’t your mother tell you?” he frowns.

Clarke falters. No her mother didn’t tell her because they’ve barely spoken these past few months. Abby would have no way of knowing about the project she’s currently working on.

“We haven’t had much time to catch up,” Clarke says. “Plus I think her brain is permanently occupied with the wedding.”

A white lie never hurt anyone.

Jaha’s frown turns into a smile. “Well I’m not surprised given that-

“Clarke, do you want another – oh, my apologies. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Lexa says, appearing at her side.

“You’re not interrupting at all,” Clarke reassures, sending her a warm smile. “Actually there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Lexa, this is Theolnious Jaha. Thelonious this is Lexa Woods, she’s-”

“Trikru’s branding manager and business strategist extraordinaire,” Jaha finishes. “Yes, I’ve heard all about Miss Woods. It’s a pleasure to finally put a face to the name.”

“Likewise, Sir,” Lexa says, shaking Jaha’s hand. “And can I take this opportunity to commend you on such a spectacular fundraiser. Polaris have truly excelled themselves this year.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Miss Woods,” Jaha quips. “Though apparently you couldn’t be swayed to participate in our date auction this year? I hear you raised quite a sum at the last fundraiser. $20,000 I’ve been told?”

“$25,000,”Lexa corrects, clearing her throat. “And no, regretfully not this year.”

Clarke watches the interaction amusedly. She thinks she can see a faint blush creeping up Lexa’s neck. She’s definitely going to tease her about this.

Jaha nods. “That’s a shame. I’m sure there will be a lot of disappointed young men in the audience this evening.”

Clarke has to cover her mouth with her hand to conceal a snort.

“Well I hate to rush off, but duty calls,” Jaha says, gesturing to the stage. “Once again, a pleasure to meet you Miss Woods, I expect I’ll be seeing you both at the final presentation meeting. And Clarke, do make sure you send your mother my regards.”

Clarke watches him walk away and then slowly faces Lexa, the beginnings of a wicked grin working its way across her features. Annoyingly, Lexa beats her to the punch.

“You didn’t tell me you knew Thelonious Jaha!” Lexa whispers excitedly. “I’ve been emailing him back and forth for weeks trying to set up a progress meeting. What other high profile contacts do you have that I don’t know about?”

Clarke shrugs. “He’s a family friend. I didn’t even know he was working for Polaris. Anyway, we’re missing the real point here. _You_ didn’t tell me you auctioned yourself off as a hot date last year,” she teases, nudging Lexa with her hip. “$25,000? Must have been quite the ego boost.”

Lexa stalls by taking a sip of her champagne. The very tips of her ears are red. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew the real story.”

Clarke stares expectantly.

Lexa rolls her eyes. “Gustus gave Anya the money to bid on me. She won, obviously. Then she dragged me straight to Hooters for our ‘date,’ both of us still in our very expensive evening dresses. I never did get the grease stains out of mine,” she tacks on bitterly.

Clarke cackles loudly, causing a few passers by to tut in their direction. She doesn’t care. The image of Lexa, dressed to the nines and surrounded by busty waitresses, pervy middle aged men and mountains of chicken wings is golden.

“Stop laughing,” Lexa pouts. “It’s not funny.”

“Oh but it is,” Clarke insists, her cheeks aching. “If it makes you feel any better, I would have taken you somewhere a little nicer than Hooters if I’d have won,” she says, chuckling again.

“Where?”

 “I was speaking hypothetically. I don’t have $25,000.”

“Forget the money,” Lexa dismisses, leaning back against the bar. “ _Hypothetically_ , where would you take me on a date? You know, if you wanted to? Hypothetically,” she repeats.

Clarke sobers instantly, casting Lexa a curious look. Lexa’s expression is soft but unreadable as she stares back at her, clearly waiting for an answer. She senses the atmosphere between them has shifted yet again. Lexa’s not joking. It’s a good job she already knows her answer by heart, she’s imagined the scenario many times already.

“I’d take you to dinner,” Clarke says, voice wavering slightly as she holds Lexa’s gaze. “There’s a great little Greek place close to where I live. It’s hidden away down one of the side streets in Fairfax. Not many people know about it but the food is to die for. We’d eat, drink some wine and cover all those tedious first date questions that people dread. I’d even laugh at your terrible jokes.”

Lexa smiles, dipping her head for a second. When she looks up again Clarke’s momentarily stunned by just how beautiful she is. If Helen of Troy had the face that launched a thousand ships, Lexa’s is capable of capturing a thousand hearts. Or maybe just one in particular.

“Then we’d go to the jazz club across the street. I’d buy you another drink and convince you to dance with me.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to lower my inhibitions with alcohol,” Lexa intones.

“You’d have no inhibitions, I’m an excellent dancer,” Clarke shoots back cockily. “Then we’d dance into the early hours, me pretending not to notice when you stepped on my feet. Then you’d offer to walk me home like the perfect gentlewoman you are.”

“And then what?”

Clarke looks up again. Lexa’s closer now than she was before. Her hand that rests on the surface of the bar now mere inches away from Clarke’s own. 

“I’d let you walk me to my door,” Clarke says, swallowing thickly and reducing the space between them a little more. “And we’d say goodnight. That’s the end of the date.”

It could be her imagination but she thinks Lexa’s eyes are darker than they’d been seconds ago. She knows it’s not her imagination when Lexa’s fingers brush across the back of her wrist. It’s not her imagination when those eyes dart down to her lips and stay there. It’s not her imagination when Lexa moves so close she can smell the champagne on her breath.

“And that’s all?” Lexa husks, voice barely above a whisper. “There’s nothing else?”

And god, that voice sends a jolt of arousal straight to her core. Does Lexa even know the effect she has on her? She can’t. Clarke can barely comprehend it herself.

She draws in a shaky breath, daring herself to ask the question. “What else is there?”

They forget where they are as Lexa moves first, the hand covering Clarke’s wrist sliding up her arm until it comes to rest on her shoulder. Lexa’s eyes meet Clarke’s in a silent question and Clarke nods almost imperceptibly in reply, tongue wetting her lips as she leans in slowly to-

“Don’t you think you should keep your gross lesbian urges confined to the bedroom, Woods?”

The voice that interrupts them is jarring, shattering the moment in the blink of an eye. Lexa reacts before she does, back ramrod straight and well-practiced glare in place as she turns to face this new threat.

Clarke thinks she’s beginning to realise why Lexa may have earned the title of ‘commander.’ Even if it was once said in jest, there’s no doubt now that Lexa looks every inch the fearless leader.

She peers around Lexa to see a woman probably around her own age. The brunette is shorter than both of them, petite and not unattractive though she has an unmistakable air of arrogance about her. The way she’s smirking at Lexa makes Clarke’s blood boil. Whoever this woman is, she’s bad fucking news.

 “Onatri,” Lexa grates out.

Clarity hits her like a train. Ontari Queen, Nia’s daughter and by association, Lexa’s enemy.

“You know I’m surprised you actually showed your face tonight,” Ontari sneers. “I thought you’d run away from my mother just like you ran away from New York. Congrats on the new job by the way. I hear you’re _settling in_ nicely.”

When Ontari’s gaze lands on her, Clarke doesn’t falter. There’s no way Ontari, Nia, or anyone else could know about their feelings for each other. There’s nothing to give them away other than their close proximity just now but that’s not exactly incriminating. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Lexa’s hands clench into fists at her sides. This isn’t gonna be pretty.

“Ah yes, where is your mother?” Lexa asks, looking over Ontari’s shoulder. “She doesn’t usually let her lapdog out of her sight. Or have you been let off the leash tonight for being a good little girl?”

Ontari’s eyes flash dangerously before she works her features into a sickeningly sweet smile. “Oh I expect you’ll be seeing her soon enough.”

“I can hardly wait,” comes Lexa’s scathing reply.

Clarke doesn’t think she’s ever suffered through such a tense and uncomfortable silence. No one moves as Ontari glares at Lexa and Lexa glares right back, her fists clenched so hard the knuckles have turned white. She needs to diffuse this god-awful situation.

“Lexa, come on,” Clarke says softly. “Let’s go and sit down. The auction is starting soon.”

“Oh, you must be the new Costia,” Ontari smirks, addressing Clarke directly.

Clarke hasn’t heard that name before but she can take a pretty accurate guess as to who Costia might be. Her suspicions are confirmed when she catches the look of dismay of Lexa’s face. She almost reaches out to touch her, curbing the urge to squeeze her hand reassuringly at the last second. It would only make things worse.

 “So tell me, has she fallen in love with you yet?” Ontari asks, running her tongue over her teeth in a deliberately provoking move. “Cus she works fast, this one. Last time she-”

Lexa takes a dangerous step forward before Clarke can stop her, advancing menacingly. It would appear Ontari isn’t a total idiot as she shrinks under the intensity of Lexa’s glare, eyes widening in fear. Clarke’s reaction is similar. She’s never seen Lexa like _this_ , not even that day when the brunette ordered her out of her office. There’s pain beneath her fury.

“Enough,” Lexa hisses through bared teeth. “Run back to your mother. Tell her if she wants to make her move, she knows where to find me.”

Ontari doesn’t need telling twice as she half-runs into the crowded bar area, disappearing from sight. Lexa’s still watching after her long seconds later, eyes narrowing as she scans the crowd.

“Are you ok?” Clarke asks quietly, stepping up beside her. It’s a stupid question, but what else is she supposed to say?

“I’m fine,” Lexa lies, not meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Again she isn’t sure of what to say. It’s impossible to know what to say when there’s no context behind that hostile encounter just now. Lexa’s sorry she had to see that? She’s sorry Lexa had to stand there and suffer through it. She shifts awkwardly, wringing her hands as she wonders whether the question on the tip of her tongue would even be worth asking. But she cares for Lexa, so she has to try.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She’s expecting Lexa to put her walls back up; to shake her head stoically and pretend that she remains unaffected as always. She isn’t expecting Lexa to nod her head and drag her eyes up slowly until they meet her own. She isn’t expecting those eyes to be shining with moisture as Lexa visibly struggles to fight off tears. She swears in that second her heart breaks.

“Yes,” Lexa says, still holding her gaze. “I want you to know everything, Clarke,” she pauses, as though mentally preparing herself. “I want you to know why I left New York.”

 

 //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

They find themselves outside on the terrace, sat on opposite sides of a small candle-lit table. It’s much quieter out here away from the charity auction in the ballroom. She’d purposely picked the table furthest away from the grand double doors to afford them a little privacy.

Uncorking the bottle of merlot she’d procured from the bar, she generously fills Lexa’s glass and then her own. It’s going to be a necessary facilitator if her intuition is correct.

Her hunch is proved to be true when Lexa inclines her head in silent thanks and then gulps down half her wine in one go before setting it down again, fingers toying with the stem of the glass. She takes a sip of her own wine, watching Lexa over the rim of her glass. The scene could be considered romantic if it weren’t for the sombre atmosphere.

She waits patiently, making no attempt to talk as the minutes tick by punctuated with nothing but the distant chatter of other guests. She doesn’t want to push Lexa, doesn’t want to make her feel pressured in the slightest. Whatever Lexa’s about to confess is sure to be deeply personal, and, if she’s not mistaken, devastating on an emotional level.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Lexa admits, raising the glass to her lips once again. “Honestly, it’s all so fucked, I just...” she trails off.

Clarke picks up the bottle, motioning to refill Lexa’s glass. “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with,” she says. “You don’t have to tell me anything at all. We can just sit here if you want. I’m here for you.”

She means it. Lexa doesn’t _have_ to tell her anything. She wishes Lexa would, wishes she would trust her with all her secrets but it’s a huge ask. All things considered they’ve only known each other for a month. Despite the fact that she finds herself falling deeper under the other woman’s enthral with each passing moment, there’s no way of knowing whether Lexa feels the same. She only knows how she feels.

She’d trust Lexa with her life. It’s a terrifying thought, putting so much faith in another person but that’s what falling for someone feels like. And she’s beginning to suspect that perhaps she is – falling, that is, headfirst into an abyss.

“No, I want you to know.” Lexa meets her eyes for the first time since they sat down. “Her name was Costia. Her name was Costia and I was in love with her.”

Clarke sits up straighter, head inclined in silent encouragement for Lexa to continue.

“We met at the Trikru Christmas party the year before last. She’d only been working at the company a couple of weeks and that was the first time I saw her. She was beautiful,” Lexa says, smiling sadly for a moment. “I was so nervous to talk to her that I tripped over my own feet if you can believe such a thing.”

Clarke smiles sadly at that too. She’d find it hard to believe that Lexa, usually so poised and confident, going to pieces over a pretty girl if she’d not seen snippets of it herself within their own interactions. If she’s being honest it’s totally endearing. She admires the Lexa who commands the respect of colleagues and superiors alike with little more than a stern look. But she’s come to _adore_ the woman beneath it all who’s kind and sweet and so impossibly soft.

“We started dating not long after that and I fell totally, helplessly in love with her. And let me tell you Clarke, love is...”

_Devestating_ , she remembers Lexa saying in the elevator.

“Consuming,” is the term Lexa settles on. “I was so wrapped up in her, in imagining our life together that I never saw the betrayal coming,” she tacks on bitterly.

From somewhere within her, Clarke finds the courage to ask, “What happened?”

“She was a spy,” Lexa says, eyes focused on her wine glass. “Right from the moment we met she was working for Nia.”

Clarke’s heart stops dead.

“Everything was orchestrated. Every kiss, every touch, every time she told me she loved me – it was all a lie,” Lexa tells her, voice breaking.

She reaches out for her on instinct, her hand grasping Lexa’s like a lifeline. She can’t tell who’s shaking more as Lexa gives her hand a squeeze and entwines their fingers. When Lexa looks up, lip trembling, there’s a single, solitary tear trailing down her cheek.  She doesn’t think as she leans forward to gently brush it away with the pad of her thumb, taking the extra time to sooth the soft skin of Lexa’s cheek.

Clarke hesitates, teeth worrying her lower lip as she retracts her hand. “How did you-

“Find out?” Lexa supplies. “Costia confessed the night before Trikru were to give our final presentation for the Arkadia merger. The presentation that meant we would win or lose the contract. I expect that was Nia’s intention all along – to try and destroy me when the company needed me most. It didn’t work. We still won,” she laughs hollowly.

Clarke looks on in stunned silence. She suspects Lexa’s a little drunk as the brunette swallows another mouthful of wine. She can’t blame her. She’s feeling a little tipsy herself after all the free champagne, but then again, that slightly lightheaded feeling she has could just be a side effect of this conversation. Lexa’s tragic history is far, far worse than she could have ever imagined.

“So there you have it,” Lexa slurs, slumping in her chair. “That’s the reason I ran away from New York. The Commander is a coward.”

Clarke’s reacts as though slapped, pulling her hand out of Lexa’s grasp and blinking rapidly. She’s not sure where the sudden surge of anger comes from but she feels it coursing through every vein in her body. She’s furious. Furious at Costia for making Lexa fall in love with her. Furious at Nia Queen for being so heartless and calculating in her pursuit of power. But most of all, most of all she’s furious at Lexa for believing those things about herself.

“You can’t honestly believe that,” Clarke accuses. Lexa furrows her brow. “I’m sorry that she hurt you but you’re not a coward, Lexa. Someone you loved broke your heart and you had the same reaction any rational person would have,” she argues fiercely.

Lexa regards her silently, lips pursed into a thin line.

“She hurt you,” Clarke says, softer this time. “And you’re allowed to feel that pain. It makes you human.”

“No, it makes me weak.”

“What does? Having feelings?”

“Yes. Love makes you weak,” Lexa clarifies. “Don’t fall in love, Clarke. It’s fucking terrible.”

It might be too late for that, she thinks silently to herself as Lexa pours them yet more wine. They’re going to need another bottle at this rate. Though she wouldn’t be against that one bit. This conversation, seeing Lexa stripped back and raw as she exposes her demons is taking its toll. She cannot even begin to process her own feelings right now.

“I don’t believe that,” Clarke says quietly as though trying to convince herself more than Lexa. “If love is weakness then why do thousands of poets, musicians and artists profess differently? People pour their heart and soul into trying to convey how amazing love is. They dedicate their lives to it...surely they can’t all be wrong?”

Lexa’s smirk is lazy and deliberate. “Tell that to Jack. Poor bastard froze to death because he loved a woman who wouldn’t move her ass to make room on the raft for both of them.”

Clarke stares at her blankly for a moment before she bursts out laughing, Lexa joining in a second later. A fucking Titanic reference at a time like this? Really?

 Whatever, Lexa’s wrong about feelings making you weak but she’s not about to argue further when Lexa has opened up to her with such a painful confession.

Their laughter tapers off and they fall into a silence that lies just beyond comfortable. She’s got another of those burning questions on her mind and the alcohol pleasantly warming her stomach means she won’t hesitate to voice it. Surprisingly, Lexa beats her to it.

“I never found out why she did it,” Lexa says, swirling her wine glass.

“You didn’t ask?”

“At the time I didn’t want to know. Seemed insignificant when my life was falling apart. Money, I guess.”

“Must have been quite a sum to keep up that pretence for a year.”

“13 months. I don’t know what else Nia could have offered her.”

“I don’t understand. How could Nia get away with something like that?”

“I had no hard evidence and Costia wasn’t exactly going to go on record. Nia has a way of making any loose ends...disappear. Don’t underestimate the lengths she will go to to ruin this company. She’s a treacherous cun-”

“Oh Lexa, you do flatter me.”

The voice comes unexpectedly from behind her, sending a chill straight down her spine. She doesn’t need any introduction to tell her who just interrupted their conversation because the answer is written all over Lexa’s face as her expression twists into the darkest of glares. Nia Queen slithers into view like a spectre at the feast.

Were she not already predisposed to dislike this woman on principle, she’s certain she’d come to that conclusion all on her own. Nia has the look of someone who has just smelled something unpleasant. Her harsh features, highlighted under the pale light of the moon make for a particularly haunting visual. That, coupled with the air of malevolence this woman seems to exude, makes Clarke’s insides turn to ice. She hates her instantly.

“Good evening,” Nia greets, flashing her teeth. “You don’t mind if I take a seat do you? We have _so_ much to catch up on.”

“I have _nothing_ to say to you,” Lexa spits, eyes blazing with hatred. “You’re not welcome here.”

Nia’s smirk is cruel. “Now, now, this is a fundraising event. It wouldn’t be very charitable of you to turn me away now, would it?” she adds, pulling an extra chair to their table.

Correction, if she thought the atmosphere between Lexa and Ontari earlier was intense, this is off the fucking scale.

 Her gaze flits between Lexa who is practically shaking with rage to Nia who looks remarkably composed as she smoothes out her ivory evening gown. She would literally rather be anywhere else than here right now. Part of her contemplates grabbing Lexa by the hand and leading them both away from this impending disaster. But she won’t. She knows Lexa wouldn’t even entertain the idea of backing down from this withered old harridan.

“Why don’t you start with introdions,” Nia suggests. “Who’s your charming companion?” she asks, turning her attention to Clarke.

“Who the fuck are you?” Clarke retorts.

She nearly regrets her response when Nia’s smile transforms into a deep scowl. Nearly, because she sees Lexa out of the corner of her eye, the brunette’s lips twitching almost imperceptibly in amusement for a fraction of a second.

“I think you know exactly who I am, young lady,” Nia sneers. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep a civil tongue. Though I can’t say I’m surprised. I was told Clarke Griffin was famed for her insolence.”

Clarke freezes, her eyes growing wide. “How do you know-”

“Your name?” Nia breezes. “Oh I know much more than that. I have eyes and ears everywhere, my dear. Make no mistake, nothing happens at Trikru without my knowledge.”

Clarke visibly pales. Azgeda couldn’t have another spy within their office, could they? The likelihood is almost impossible.

“Don’t listen to her, Clarke, she’s bluffing. This is what she does,” Lexa cuts in warningly, glowering at Nia. “She likes to try and get inside people’s heads and play her tired little mind games. It’s pathetic,” she dismisses, raising her glass to her lips.

“Yet surprisingly effective,” Nia counters without missing a beat. “It didn’t take much for Costia to see things my way. Mind you, I will admit there were certain _extenuating_ circumstances in play to ensure the success of that little endeavour,” she tacks on with another nauseating smile.

Lexa stiffens, eyes narrowing as she stares Nia down, neither of them so much as blinking. Clarke watches their standoff with mounting unease, hoping that Lexa won’t take the bait. Nia is _goading_ her, trying to draw Lexa further into her twisted web.

“Explain,” Lexa demands. She grips her now empty wine glass so hard that Clarke’s afraid it will shatter.

“I thought you weren’t interested in my mind games?” Nia mocks. When Lexa bares her teeth in a snarl, the older woman seems to reconsider. “Very well, allow me to elaborate. All this time I imagine you’ve been under the impression that Costia was working for me from the start? You’re wrong. I’m afraid that foolish girl was very much in love with you.”

Nia’s smile grows by the second. “You see when Titus informed me that you’d made an imbecile of yourself trying to impress this girl, well, I seized my opportunity. Not at once, no. I waited until I was sure she had feelings for you. Did you know Costia’s family were in dire financial straits? Her father owed a lot of money to some unsavoury people so I offered her a deal; the debt paid in exchange for breaking your heart.”

Lexa springs from her seat in an instant, the chair noisily clattering to the floor behind her. “You’re lying. Why wouldn’t she...” she falters. “She would have told me...”

“Another condition of the deal, I’m afraid,” Nia says, pausing to place a cigarette between her lips. “One word to you about our deal and there would have been grave repercussions. So you see,” she says, lighting the cigarette, “She didn’t just break your heart, my dear, you shattered hers too.”

She feels sick. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up as the fight goes out of Lexa’s eyes. Lexa looks absolutely aghast as the reality of Nia’s words set in. There’s nothing she can do to make this better. There’s nothing she can do but she has to do _something_.

“You blackmailed her?” Lexa hisses when she finds her voice again. “You won’t get away with this you-”

“Oh but I already have,” Nia tells her delightedly. “You have no _proof_.”

“That you’re a poisonous bitch?” Lexa scoffs. “That’s common knowledge. If you think for a second that I won’t-”

Nia’s shriek cuts through the air like a knife. That’s because Clarke’s _something_ was to ‘accidentally’ knock over her glass of merlot, sending the crimson liquid spilling onto Nia’s pristine dress. She really shouldn’t drink so much. It makes her awfully clumsy.

“Oh gosh, I’m _so_ sorry,” Clarke simpers, tone laden with sarcasm. “Oh how awful of me. Your dress is ruined.”

Nia’s on her feet in an instant, glaring down at Clarke with a furious intensity. “You did this on purpose you insolent little worm.”

“Did I?” Clarke furrows her brow in faux-contemplation. “Guess you have no _proof_.”

The vein in Nia’s forehead looks close to bursting point but Clarke remains seated, smiling up at her in silent challenge. Her features give no indication just how furiously her heart is pounding.

“You will regret this,” Nia hisses, glaring at both of them. “I’ll make sure of that. Trikru are finished.”

With that, Nia stalks off towards the ballroom, no doubt to find her equally repugnant daughter.

Clarke’s feels jubilant as she watches after Nia’s retreating form. It might have been petty, what she just did, but it was worth it to see that awful woman taken down a few pegs. She turns to Lexa, expecting a commendation for one-upping her nemesis.

Only Lexa doesn’t look pleased at all. She looks livid.

“Get up,” Lexa commands, her breathing laboured in what Clarke assumes is an effort to control her temper. “Now.”

She does as she’s told, rising slowly and keeping her eyes on Lexa the whole time.

 Lexa jerks her head. “Move.”

When she falters, Lexa reaches out for her. It’s not harsh, the way Lexa’s fingers wrap around her wrist, but it’s an unmistakably authoritative gesture. She allows herself to be lead through the double doors past the ballroom, struggling to keep up with Lexa’s frantic pace. She’ll say it once and she’ll say it again: high heels were not designed for speed.

“Lexa, please slow down,” Clarke huffs as she’s lead down a hallway lined with several doors. “Look, I know you’re upset but can you please just-”

She stops protesting when Lexa throws open one of the doors and pulls them both inside, dropping her hold on Clarke’s wrist as soon as they cross the threshold. She has the good sense to close the door behind them. If Lexa’s going to harangue her for her actions like she’s assuming, then she’d rather no one else was privy to it.

She turns, taking stock of the room they’ve found themselves in. It looks like the kind that’s used for conferences, long tables lined up along the far wall. Lexa has her back to her, standing rigid and tense.

She should probably apologise. What seemed like a good idea in the spur of them moment will probably have unsavoury repercussions for them both. What had she been thinking, provoking Nia like that? And for what, a moment of fleeting satisfaction? She’s an idiot, is what she is.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says, taking a step forward. “I know what I did was-”

“You,” Lexa hisses, rounding on her at once. “You have no fucking idea.”

She flinches. It’s still so alien to her, hearing Lexa swear, but that’s not what causes her alarm. What causes her alarm is the manner in which Lexa advances on her, expression unreadable as she narrows the distance between them with long strides. She’s left with no option but to back away under the intensity of Lexa’s gaze as the brunette moves closer still. She runs out of room when her back hits the solid oak of the door, letting out an involuntary gasp when she realises there’s nowhere else to go.

Clarke swallows hard. “Just let me explain why I-”

“Stop talking.”

They’re stood so close she can hear Lexa’s shallow breathing with each rise and fall of her chest. She forces herself to look up, gaze landing first on parted lips before she’s helplessly drawn to those familiar green eyes. The mesmerising hue she’s so accustomed to seeing has been reduced to nothing more than a thin sliver of emerald rimming impossibly wide pupils. It’s strange that how even in this compromising position she finds herself admiring Lexa’s effortless beauty. It’s also probably not acceptable to be this turned on when someone is furious with you but it’s a foible she can live with.

“You have no fucking idea,” Lexa murmurs, her voice low but missing the dangerous edge from before. “Of how amazing you are.”

She doesn’t have time to process those words as Lexa surges forward and captures her lips in a bruising kiss. The force of it slams her back into the door and for a second she doesn’t react, stunned into immobility by this unexpected turn of events. When her brain does finally catch up she returns the kiss with fervour as her hands grasp blindly at Lexa’s shoulders to hold her in place. Lexa responds by cupping her face in an almost vice-like grip and tilting her head to find a better angle.

This is nothing like their first kiss. There’s absolutely no rhythm to what they’re doing; a desperate mess of craving and desire as their lips move against each other with wild urgency. It’s the culmination of weeks of repression when they kiss each other a little too quickly as though afraid the moment might end. She realises they’re both a little drunk but that’s no excuse. They deserve to take their time. They deserve better than this.

She pulls back, giving them a second of respite as she traces Lexa’s lips with the pad of her thumb and pants breathlessly. It’s a welcome relief to see Lexa is in much the same state, eyes tightly closed and breathing unevenly.

“Relax, ok?” Clarke whispers against her lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Then she’s leaning in again, capturing Lexa’s lower lip between her own and pulling it into her mouth, sucking gently. Lexa tastes of champagne and something else that’s uniquely her. It’s addictive, she thinks, unable to resist as she grazes her teeth over Lexa’s bottom lip and tugs lightly. The small hum of appreciation it elicits from Lexa makes her all too aware of the arousal pooling between her thighs and she smiles into the kiss, knowing Lexa is probably just as affected by this as she is.

Any remaining resolve she has - any intention to take things slow goes out the window when Lexa licks greedily into her mouth, tongue sliding against her own deliciously. She doesn’t attempt to stop the moan that escapes her throat, pulling Lexa closer to her until they’re flush against each other. It’s still isn’t enough, she thinks as Lexa’s hands settle on her waist, fingers lightly digging into her skin. There’s no sense in pretending anymore. She wants to feel her everywhere.

Lexa seems to pick up on her line of thinking as she kisses a blazing trail along her jaw all the way down her neck, nipping gently every so often. She lets out a soft moan which only seems to encourage Lexa further when her tongue laps eagerly at her pulse point. In a spectacularly bold move, Lexa slips a firm thigh between her own.

 When Lexa rocks into her she whimpers. She honest to god, fucking _whimpers_. She’d be embarrassed if she could focus on anything besides the throbbing between her legs.

“God I want you,” Lexa practically growls into her ear. “It’s been driving me fucking crazy.”

She shows her just how much she wants it too by turning her head to capture swollen lips in another passionate kiss. Her hands alight to Lexa’s shoulders, trying to find purchase as she grinds down in time with Lexa’s thrusts. When Lexa’s thigh rubs again her just right, she shudders and breaks the kiss, gasping as her lungs vainly attempt to pull in enough air.

She rests her forehead against Lexa’s own, their champagne-tainted breath mingling together as they struggle to compose themselves.

She doesn’t want to be composed. She wants to give herself over to this feeling completely. She wants Lexa writing beneath her touch as she slowly explores every inch of her body like she’s wanted to do for weeks now. But it can’t happen like this. They need to stop.

“Wait,” Clarke says as Lexa dips her head to kiss her again. 

The look Lexa fixes her with as she pulls back is one of confusion which soon morphs into panic. “Did I do something wrong? Do you not want to-”

“No. No I _very_ much want to,” Clarke reassures, seizing Lexa’s tie and tugging her in for another kiss. This time when Lexa pulls back she’s grinning. “But not here.”

“My place?” Lexa suggests.

Clarke shakes her head. “Mine is closer.”

“And Raven?”

“At Octavia’s.”

Lexa seems to contemplate the option for a moment before joining their lips once more. “Ok.”

Clarke grins as Lexa steps back, doing her best to smooth the wrinkles of her shirt. She reaches down to retrieve her clutch bag from the floor because somehow she’s miraculously managed to keep hold of it during all this. Searching through it, she pulls her cloak room ticket out and hands it to Lexa.

“You go grab our things, I’ll be back in a moment,” Clarke says, grinning mischievously.

Lexa frowns a little. “Where are you going?”

“You’ll see,” Clarke trills, winking over her shoulder as she walks through the door.

When she returns to find Lexa in the foyer a couples of minutes later it’s with a bottle of pilfered champagne in hand. Lexa shakes her head but the grin that creeps across her face betrays her completely. In fairness, she did warn her she’d be taking full advantage of Polaris’s generous hospitality.

 

 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

She’s not sure how they survive the cab ride home. Not when she spends it pressed against Lexa’s side as they pass the champagne between them, drinking straight from the bottle. It’s not like they need the extra alcohol - they’re already pretty drunk, but it gives her hands something to do so that they don’t wander where they shouldn’t in full view of the taxi driver.

Not that she particularly cares if he sees. It’s more the fact that she’s afraid she won’t be able to control herself if they start again. Kissing Lexa, touching her is addictive, leaving her with a yearning like she’s never felt before. It’s far too dangerous. They settle for lustful stares and lingering glances as the car speeds towards Fairfax.

However all sense of etiquette disappears as soon as she opens her apartment door and Lexa pins her against it, kissing her hungrily as though Clarke possess the air she needs to breathe. Until this moment she never realised how much she would enjoy the feeling of the solid wood under her back and the warmth of Lexa’s body pressing against her front. The contrast is delicious.

There’s a sense of urgency as she pushes the blazer from Lexa’s shoulders and Lexa shrugs it off. Clarke uses the opportunity to switch their positions, thoroughly enjoying the fleeting look of surprise on Lexa’s face for the split second when her back hits the door until Clarke’s lips are on her again. Her tongue dips into Lexa’s mouth, coaxing out moans of approval as she swipes languidly in her exploration.

It’s a little sloppy, the champagne clearly having affected both of them, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care when Lexa’s in her arms and she’s kissing her like _that_.

Lexa’s hands thread their way into blonde curls, tugging when Clarke does something she particularly likes. Emboldened, she sets about tugging Lexa’s shirt free of is tuck before sliding her hands beneath the material and splaying them against the flat plane of her stomach. She revels in the way the muscles jump beneath her touch. Because of course Lexa has abs. She’s a fucking goddess.

“Bedroom?” Lexa pants in between kisses.

Somewhere amidst the lustful haze Clarke has the wherewithal to nod, closing her fingers around Lexa’s wrist as she pulls them down the hall. Both of them are stumbling, the alcohol they’ve consumed and their giddy nervousness equally to blame. Once they reach her bedroom they’re kissing again, Lexa determinedly sucking at her neck as she toes off her shoes. Clarke somehow manages to rid herself of her own heels without doing any significant damage.

Lexa’s tie is the next item of clothing to go, undone by trembling fingers and discarded on the floor, the now severely creased white shirt following seconds later. Her fingers fly to the zipper of Lexa’s pants and those too are added to the growing pile of clothes as Lexa kicks them off the rest of the way. She takes moment to admire sight of Lexa standing before her in just a matching set of lacy black underwear.

She’s absolutely breathtaking.

Again she’s reminded of the growing ache in her core as Lexa pulls her in for another mindblowing kiss.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Lexa murmurs almost pleadingly against her lips.

When she feels Lexa’s fingers fumbling with the zipper of her dress she smirks into the kiss and walks them backwards until the back of Lexa’s knees hit the bed. With a forceful push, Lexa separates from her, landing on the bed with a soft thump. And _oh_ , she doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of seeing that wide-eyed look of pleasant surprise on Lexa’s face.

“Let me fix that,” Clarke husks, maintaining eye contact as she reaches behind her to undo her zipper.

The look that spreads across Lexa’s features when her dress pools on the floor doesn’t compare to anything she’s ever seen before. It’s hungry, primal even, as green eyes trail the length of her body.

She doesn’t waste another second, moving to straddle Lexa’s thighs, hands grasping the other woman’s shoulders for support. The gasp she lets out when Lexa throws her arms around her waist to pull her closer is one of pure pleasure. This is what she’s wanted all along. Skin against skin as they finally allow themselves to give into their desires.

She tilts Lexa’s chin up, kissing her slow and deep, savouring every second. She pushes Lexa’s shoulders down until her back hits the mattress and breaks the kiss to catch her breath for a second. When she looks down at Lexa, her lips parted, pupils blown and beautiful mess of wild curls splayed against the pillow, she stalls.

She’s conflicted. She wants this. Wants it with every fibre of her being but something doesn’t feel right. When Lexa sees her hesitation she props herself upon her elbows, head tilted to one side.

“You ok?” Lexa asks softly, fingers caressing the length of Clarke’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Nothing, I just - do you think we should be doing this right now? I mean we’ve both had a lot to drink.”

Lexa presses a kiss to the back of her hand. “We have, but it doesn’t make me want you any less,” she says, smiling up at Clarke. “But we can stop if you want. I don’t want to do anything you’re not completely ready for. I don’t want you to regret this.”

Clarke’s chest soars because Lexa is so sweet, so compassionate and caring that she can scarcely believe someone as _special_ as this would be interested in her. She could _never_ regret Lexa. She leans forward to plant another kiss on Lexa’s lips to tell her so.

“I am ready,” Clarke reassures, hovering over her. “And I want this more than anything but...do you think you could give me a moment?”

Lexa smiles again. “Of course. Take your time. I’ll be waiting.”

Clarke gives her one last peck before she shimmies off the bed and pads towards the bathroom. When she gets there she closes the door with a click and leans again it, sighing heavily.

What is she doing? Everything she wanted, everything she’s been thinking about non-stop for the past few weeks is in the next room lying on her bed. So why the fuck is she in here fretting over what to do?

She walks over to the sink and runs the tap, splashing cold water in her face. Her hands grip the basin as she stares evenly at her reflection. She’s nervous, that’s true, but so is Lexa probably. And now she’s left her alone to think god knows what. If that were her, lying alone in some girl’s bed, she’d be freaking out to no end.

With that thought echoing in her head, she makes up her mind. This is happening. She just needs to forget her nerves and just allow herself to feel. After the struggle of not being able to act on their feelings, she owes them both that much.

“Lexa?” Clarke calls as she steps back into the bedroom. “I’m sorry I kept you-”

Oh.

Lexa’s asleep, snoring lightly with the moonlight that breaks through the blinds bathing her features. Clarke tiptoes closer, noting how remarkably peaceful the other woman looks without the weight of responsibility resting on her shoulders.

She decides not to wake her, instead opting to pull the comforter up over Lexa’s shoulders before pressing a kiss to her temple. After a final longing look, she walks from the room and makes herself comfortable on the couch. She can’t blame Lexa in the slightest; the brunette is probably still jetlagged from her trip to New York and the free champagne tonight definitely won’t have helped with that.

It doesn’t matter though. Lexa will be here in the morning and they’ll both be sober. They’ll have the apartment to themselves. They can do whatever they want. The thought alone is enough to warrant the smile on her face as she drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please let me know if you liked it!  
> This time I promise I really am busy with moving house and general life stuff (ugh) but when the next chapter lands, be wary of the "M" rating.  
> Until next time you can find me lurking on tumblr at toolateintheday


	14. In vino veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me start by saying thank you once again - I love all your feedback on this fic :)  
> This chapter sees the return of our good friend Angst™.  
> Its a bit of a rough ride in places but hopefully you won’t feel like coming after me with pitch forks by the end. Key word: hopefully. 
> 
> Also, thanks to the person who inspired the title of this chapter. In wine, there is indeed truth.

Lexa POV

 

The sunlight streaming through the half-open blinds is what pulls her out of a particularly enjoyable dream. She guesses it must still be relatively early because the sun is pleasantly warm on her face, not yet old enough in the sky to bring LA to that unbearably hot and sticky type of heat. It’s about the only thing that’s pleasant, she soon discovers, when she tries to sit up.

Her head is pounding – an unmistakable harbinger of an awful hangover. That coupled with a dry mouth and the heavy weight of her eyelids indicates that she’s in for a difficult morning. She curses Polaris and their complimentary champagne as she shuts her eyes and rolls over to bury her face in the pillow, willing sleep to take her again.

Then she freezes.

Because the pillow smells familiar but entirely unlike her own. Faint undertones of vanilla and something else indescribable but altogether sweet invade her senses as she breathes in. She’d know that scent anywhere. Her eyes fly open, darting around the room as if to defy her instincts.

It merely confirms them. An easel in the corner, the bottle of perfume on the dresser, last night’s navy evening dress on the floor? She’s in Clarke’s room. In Clarke’s bed, specifically. If she needed any further proof then the photograph of Clarke on the bedside table with two people who she assumes are her parents is a metaphorical flashing neon sign.

Like an unpleasant montage, memories of the night before come rushing back to her. She tries to piece them together with partial success. She remembers the confrontation with Nia. She remembers Clarke purposely spilling her wine. Then there’s the part where she was staring at Clarke and thinking that she couldn’t stand not kissing those lips for a second longer, fuck waiting another six weeks. So she’d kissed her - quite aggressively if she’s remembering correctly. Memory tells her that Clarke had been just as eager to act on her desires as she had.

Everything after that becomes a little hazy in her recollection which is probably everything to do with drinking too much wine. Desperate kisses in an empty conference room. Knowing glances in a taxi.  Clarke pressing her against the door. Clarke slowly unzipping her dress. Clarke straddling her thighs as she kissed her hungrily, only scant lace and cotton keeping them apart.

She vividly remembers feeling that swooping sensation in her stomach which always happens whenever Clarke’s around, followed closely by a familiar ache between her legs just begging to be satisfied. And then...nothing. She draws a total blank. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up as a troubling possibility enters her mind.

Did they sleep together?

She genuinely can’t remember. Everything’s a blur of wandering hands and desperate kisses. Holding her breath she pulls back the comforter that’s covering her. She lets out a sigh of relief. She’s still wearing her underwear which probably means they didn’t have sex....though who’s to say Clarke was still wearing _her_ underwear when she got up this morning? The doubt that had subsided for a second returns with a vengeance – she’s still none the wiser and it makes her uneasy.

Her silent question about where Clarke might be is answered by the distant sound of the shower running somewhere in the apartment. She groans and flops back onto the bed, squeezing her eyes closed. This is why she doesn’t usually drink – along with the painful physical side effects, it clouds her memory terribly. Still, it’s never been as bad as this.

Fortunately she has a pretty good recollection of the look on Nia Queen’s face after Clarke had ruined her (probably very expensive) dress. She smiles to herself because that face, the priceless expression of pure unadulterated shock, will remain one of her favourite memories forever. It is the very least Nia deserves for blackmailing Costia and trying to-

Costia.

She sits bolt upright. That’s something she’s going to have to try and process when her head isn’t quite so fuzzy. It had taken her months to try and get over that to get over that betrayal – it had very nearly destroyed her. All that heartache, all that pain and suffering just because she’d allowed herself to fall in love. It was devastating.

Now she’s doing it again. She’s given in; disarmed by Clarke’s easy laugh and contagious smile. Found herself pining like a love-struck teenager, daydreaming about eyes so blue she could drown in their depths. Clarke has gotten under her skin. And now she’s in her bed.

How does the old saying go? Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

She needs to leave. Now.

She scrambles out of the bed, cursing out loud when her feet catch on the comforter in her haste and she stumbles forward. She’s furious with herself as she gathers last night’s clothes from the bedroom floor and tugs them back on. How could she have been so stupid to allow herself to fall into this trap again? Was it not enough the first time around?

 A quick glance in the mirror confirms what she’d suspected; her crumpled suit is ridiculous. Her hair is wild and her eyeliner is smudged, giving the appearance of twin black eyes. She scowls at her reflection. She does, in fact, look very much like someone who is sneaking away from a one night stand. But is that really so far from the truth?

Turning to look for her shoes, her eyes land on the photo of Clarke and her family again. She falters; the blonde in the photo grinning at her without a care in the world causes a sudden surge of guilt to burn deep in her chest. She shakes her head as if to dislodge the feeling. This was not the plan. Falling for Clarke was never supposed to be the plan. But she _is_ and it’s terrifying.

Tiptoeing out of the bedroom, she pauses in the hall. The shower is still going but now she can hear Clarke singing softly over the sound of running water. It’s not a song she recognises but she finds herself stopping to listen anyway because Clarke’s voice matches the rest of her. Absolutely beautiful. The ache in her chest returns, stronger this time as she turns to find the front door.

She swallows the lump in her throat, unlocks the latch and pushes through the feeling of overwhelming guilt. It hurts. God it hurts to leave like this but she can’t bear to face her own demons right now, let alone face Clarke. She’s doesn’t know how she’s supposed to look Clarke in the eye and confess she doesn’t remember a thing about their night together.

Does she regret it because it happened or because its happened and she can’t remember? She doesn’t know. How can she even begin to explain to Clarke how she’s feeling when she doesn’t know herself? She needs some time alone to clear her head and figure this out.

She walks the entire 12 blocks home.

 

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

Back at her apartment she collapses onto the couch face first, burying her head in the crease between the cushions as though trying to block out the world beyond these four walls. She’s not very successful, unable to go a few seconds without her brain being invaded with thoughts of smooth skin beneath her fingertips and soft lips pressing against her own.

This is a mess. This whole thing is one big goddamn mess.

She never should have kissed Clarke last night. Not after they agreed they would wait until the project was over, and especially not after Nia had dropped a figurative bombshell with her Costia revelation.

That admission had been like a knife to the gut.

Costia. Her ex-girlfriend is very much alive but it feels as though she’s being haunted by the memory of her. More specifically, of what they once were. She’d spent months hating Costia for what she did and now...now she isn’t entirely sure what to think. There hasn’t exactly been time to process this potentially life-altering information between last night and this morning.

Is it supposed to hurt more or less knowing that Costia genuinely did love her, at least to begin with? She doesn’t know. She doesn’t particularly feel anything different when she thinks about it now compared to before all this. It still hurts. It’ll probably always hurt to a degree but that’s the price you pay when you fall in love. That’s the risk you take.

She’d had her fill of taking risks for a lifetime until Clarke came along that fateful day and told her, in no uncertain terms, to go fuck herself. She smiles at the memory before forcing the feeling down and trying to focus on the matter at hand.

All she seems to think of lately is blonde hair and blue eyes. It’s ridiculous. Even after Nia’s revelation, amidst all the disarray that had left her reeling, she’d pushed Costia from her mind. Clarke had pulled that ludicrous move with the merlot and then all she could think about was kissing her again. She should have been devastated after hearing that confession but it’s as if all the pain she felt until that moment, all that anguish over Costia, had been supplanted by her love for Clarke.

_No._

No, not love. It simply cannot be _love_. She will not entertain that notion.

These are just lustful feelings. Strong ones admittedly, but something she can and must overcome. Past experience has taught her what happens when you trust your feelings. She will not be opening herself up to that again. If it all goes wrong she’s not sure she could survive the heartbreak a second time.

Her phone beeps from within her pocket and with some effort she manages to fish it out, turning her head and cracking one eye open to look at the screen.

It’s a text from Clarke.

Her heart beats rapidly as her thumb hovers over the notification. It’s like looking at Pandora’s Box. If she opens it then she’ll feel terrible for reading what is presumably a very angry message. If she doesn’t she’ll spend the day wondering what it says. In the end her curiosity wins out and she opens the message.

She instantly regrets her decision.

**09:32 Clarke: Where did you go? Did something happen? Please let me know you’re ok x**

Clarke doesn’t seem angry at all. She sounds concerned. And that makes her feel ten times worse than she already does. She doesn’t reply, dropping the phone to the floor beside the couch and releasing a heavy sigh. She rolls over and stares up at the ceiling for a long moment before closing her eyes again, hoping her mind will do the small decency of allowing her to sleep. Perhaps her dreams will be kinder than reality.

 

 

 //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

When Monday rolls around she does the unthinkable; she takes a sick day for the first time in her career. Never in her life has she missed a day of work. Not when she had the flu, not when that fire hydrant exploded in downtown New York, not even when she was trying to mend her shattered heart after Costia left.

Lexa Woods does not take sick days. Except today she does.

She hadn’t even been able to summon the energy to call Indra, instead choosing to send her an email, letting her know that she’d been struck down with a sudden bout of food poisoning. As she sets her phone back down on the nightstand, she chooses to ignore the two new messages that Clarke has sent on top of the one from yesterday morning. 

She can’t bring herself to read them, let alone respond to them. Hell, she can’t even bring herself to get out of bed. At some point last night she’d stumbled into her bedroom, closed the curtains, crawled beneath the covers and hadn’t moved since. She knows she’s being pathetic but she can’t find it within herself to care.

 

 

 

 

Shortly after 9am her phone rings, startling her out of her thoughts. She scowls at it because she could have sworn she’d switched it to silent mode after Clarke’s third text. A quick glance at he screen tells her its Anya calling.

There’s no way in hell she’s going to answer that. Anya somehow always sees through her excuses and misdirections, no matter how well thought out they are. Anya deducing that she’s not actually sick, even without the benefit of seeing her face to face, wouldn’t be a stretch for her best friend in the slightest.

Predictably her phone buzzes with a text notification not a minute after the ringing stops. She rolls her eyes and opens the message, fully expecting a barrage of questions. Except there’s no questions at all, just one very blunt statement.

 **09: 05 Anya:** Bullshit are you sick. You’re never sick.

Anya Forrester: correct as always. However, its when she doesn’t reply that the questions start coming as previously anticipated.

 **09:08 Anya:** What’s wrong?

 **09:08 Anya:** Did something happen at the fundraiser? Was it Nia?

 **09:10 Anya:** For fucks sake, Lexa. If you don’t answer I’m coming to your place after work and I WILL get an answer out of you.

She doesn’t reply. She just wants to be left alone, bringing her knees up to her chest and squeezing her eyes closed again. She’ll get up later and put the chain on the door in case Anya does remain true to her word and decides to barge into her apartment.

 Its funny how doing nothing can make you feel exhausted. She sleeps again, dreams fitful and restless.

 

 

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

“Hey there, sleeping beauty.”

Lexa’s eyes fly open and she sits bolt upright. Anya’s stood at the foot of her bed, hands on her hips and a smirk on her face as she regards her curiously. How the fuck did she even...oh...the door. She forgot to put the chain on.

“About time you joined the land of the living,” Anya teases, smirk growing by the second.

Lexa scowls. “What are you doing here? What time is it?”

She looks out of the window for a clue but finds the curtains are still drawn. Oh yeah. That’ll be the self-imposed isolation.

“It’s 3 o’clock,” Anya replies, looking around the room with obvious distaste. “I left work early. And I’m here to pull you out of whatever pit of self-loathing you’re currently wallowing in. Get up.”

Lexa groans and pulls the covers over her head. “Go away,” is her muffled reply.

The covers are abruptly pulled off mere seconds later and she looks past her feet to scowl at Anya with renewed annoyance. Is she not allowed to do as she pleases in her own home? Apparently not, if Anya’s piercing glare is anything to go by.

“Alexandria Mildred Woods,” Anya says, narrowing her eyes threateningly. “Get your sorry ass out of bed this instant. Do not make me repeat myself.”

Lexa turns and curses into her pillow as Anya stalks from the room. She very much regrets ever having told Anya her middle name. She hates it. Firstly because its her mother’s and secondly, because its fucking terrible. Mildred...honestly? Why hasn’t she gotten around to legally changing it by now?

With an almighty sigh she heaves herself out of bed and trudges into the living room. Anya’s sat on the couch, regarding her with barely veiled disappointment. Or is it pity? Disgust? She can’t tell.

“You look like shit,” Anya tells her. Good to see she’s still as direct as ever.

“Thanks,” Lexa deadpans, flopping down onto the opposite couch. “Probably because some asshole just demanded I get out of bed.”

Anya stares her down. “You know what I mean,” she shakes her head. “Lexa you look terrible. What happened?”

She could try to lie. She could try and claim she really is sick. She certainly looks it with the dark circles under her eyes and the pale pallor of her skin. But she doesn’t. Instead she tells Anya everything, starting from The Dropship last week, right up until where they are now.

Anya listens intently, remaining silent the entire time; though her eyebrows do rise on two occasions. Firstly when she admits to kissing Clarke on their night out, and secondly when the truth about Costia is revealed. Before now Anya had just assumed Costia had been a messy break-up. She’d never told the whole story to anyone, too ashamed and embarrassed that she’d opened herself up only to be shut down.

“That devious snake,” Anya spits, glaring darkly at the floor. Then she straightens, eyes fixed on Lexa’s. “Get Costia to go on record against Nia. We’ll nail that bitch to the wall. There’s no way Azgeda will win Polaris over with allegations of blackmail flying around.”

Lexa shakes her head. “I don’t want to win this bid by dragging their name into the mud. Make no mistake, Nia Queen will hang herself with her own rope,” she says evenly. “Besides, Costia has been through enough.”

“So have you!” Anya counters hotly, temper flaring. She pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales. “Do you still have feelings for her?”

Lexa pauses for a moment, opening her mouth before closing it again. She’s been asking herself the same question for the past two days. It hasn’t been easy, trying to work out the answer.

“It’s weird,” Lexa breathes out, brow furrowed as she contemplates her words. “There was a time when I would have done anything for her. All she would have had to do was ask.  If she’d have just been honest with me from the beginning, I would have helped her. I could have easily paid her father’s debt and we could have exposed Nia for the vile creature she is together.”

“And now?” Anya presses.

“And now...” Lexa falters, teeth worrying her lower lip. “Now I think I’m finally over it. Costia is in the past and that’s where she needs to stay.”

Anya nods once and holds her gaze, seemingly satisfied with her conclusion. They sit in silence for long minutes, both of them trying to absorb the weight of the conversation. She feels lighter, having voiced her feelings on the Costia situation out loud. It’s as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders with the admission, as if she’s finally been able to let her go.

“Clarke asked me about you today,” Anya says, startling Lexa from her thoughts. “She thought the matter was pertinent enough to disturb me on my lunch break. She wanted to know if you were ok. Seemed to think maybe something had happened to you.”

Lexa eyebrows shoot towards her hairline. Clarke approached Anya on her lunch break? She really must care for her if she’s willing to risk Anya’s wrath. Fuck. It’s so undeniably obvious that Clarke cares and here she is, ignoring her messages and walking out on her after their night together. She’s a fucking idiot, is what she is.

Lexa clears her throat. “And what did you tell her?”

Anya shrugs. “Nothing. What was I supposed to tell her?”

Lexa says nothing, instead averting her gaze to stare at nothing in particular. Even after the way she left things with Clarke, the woman is still asking after her, still caring and concerned despite probably knowing Lexa is avoiding her. That pull in her chest is back again. This time it’s almost unbearable.

“What are you going to do about her?” Anya asks softly. “About Clarke?”

Her shoulders sag as she comes to her own realisation. She knows what she has to do. This thing with Clarke, whatever it might be, has already gone too far. She’s already in way over her head and if she’s not careful, she’ll be pulled under completely.

A part of her knows it’s already too late. They’re both going to be hurt whatever the outcome but her mind is made up.

Love is weakness.

 

 

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

Clarke storms into her office on Tuesday morning as expected. That is to say, Lexa had been anticipating this confrontation at some point today; she just didn’t think it would happen at 8:30 in the morning before she’d even had the chance to power up her computer. Did Clarke come into work early for that very reason? Probably. Clarke simply wouldn’t be Clarke if there wasn’t a hint of unpredictability in everything she does.

When Clarke slams the door behind her, she’s grateful for the fact that there aren’t many people in the office yet. That’s as far as the gratitude extends though, because when she catches sight of the look on Clarke’s face, eyes blazing and lips pursed into a thin line, she’s instantly reminded of why the blonde stormed in here in this first place. This is probably going to be excruciating.

“We need to talk,” Clarke says. Her voice is remarkably level for someone who by and large, looks furious.

“Not now, Clarke,” Lexa dismisses, turning away to type in her password. Clarke’s gaze is too intense in the worst kind of way. “I have a lot of work to catch up on.”

It’s a pathetic excuse and they both know it, but it’s one that she _hopes_ will buy her more time. She isn’t ready for this. She’s isn’t ready for whatever hurtful words, or worse, the multitude of home truths that Clarke is surely about to unleash. She should have learned by now that hoping doesn’t accomplish anything.

“Yes _now_ , Lexa,” Clarke hisses, striding up to her desk. “You owe me an explanation.”

She still doesn’t look up. She doesn’t want to see those beautiful blue eyes marred with anger or something far more heartbreaking than that. Just remain calm, composed and firm in your rebuttals, she tells herself. Clarke will have to admit defeat eventually.

“If you wish to discuss something work related then please make an appointment as per the usual process,” Lexa reels off almost robotically. “I do not time for-

Clarke pounds her fist on the desk with such force that the computer monitor shakes precariously. Lexa’s head snaps up at once and she realises in that moment the magnitude of the mistake she’s made when green meets blue.

“You left me,” Clarke says, her voice wavering. She pauses, closing her eyes as she draws in a shaky breath. “You left me,” she repeats, firmer this time, accusing. “So you don’t get to sit there and dictate when and how we will have this conversation.”

When Clarke opens her eyes again she looks like she’s on the verge of tears, though whether it’s through sadness or frustration, Lexa doesn’t know. What she does know is that the sight makes her heart clench painfully. That’ll be the crushing guilt, then.

Clarke’s laugh catches her off guard. Its hollow, cold, verging on sardonic. She furrows her brow in confusion as Clarke rolls her eyes because what exactly about this is funny?

“God I’m such an idiot,” Clarke sighs, shaking her head. “You wanna know what I thought when I saw you’d left? I thought that maybe you’d gone to get coffee or something. That you’d come back with two cups of Italian roast from the nice cafe down the street and we’d sit down and talk about what happened between us. You know, like two reasonable adults might do? How fucking stupid of me, right?” she scoffs.

Lexa says nothing. She dare not. With the way her lip trembles, if she attempts to speak now, Clarke won’t be the only one on the verge of tears. So she sits and she listens, thinking she probably deserves this. She was hurting but she didn’t consider just how much of an effect her actions would have on the woman standing before her.

Clarke starts to pace back and forth, hands clenching and unclenching as she does so. “When you didn’t come back I thought maybe something urgent had come up. Something serious so you didn’t have time to leave a note. But then when you didn’t respond to any of my messages I started to worry because like the fool I am, it didn’t even cross my mind at that point that you might be ignoring me.”

And suddenly Lexa doesn’t want to listen to this anymore because it’s become abundantly clear just how much Clarke thinks of her. Clarke cares. Clarke cares about her and now she’s hurt her because she was too busy trying to run away from her feelings and the reality of what they might mean. _She’s_ the fool.

“Clarke, I-“

“Oh I’m not done yet,” Clarke cuts her off with a sharp glare. “Then when you didn’t show up for work yesterday, I really started to panic. You know I went as far as to ask Anya if you were ok? Cornered her in the cafeteria,” she tacks on, taking a seat in the chair opposite.

Lexa subtly shifts in her seat, moving as far back as she can without being obvious about it. Clarke’s stare is unwavering. She wonders if this is how criminals feel when they’re put on trial; when the evidence of their crimes is stretched out before them and they’re forced to face the punishment. Her punishment comes in the form of two deep blue orbs, cold and unreadable as they pierce into her across the desk.

“Good poker face on that one, by the way.  Didn’t give anything away. Just told me ‘what Lexa does is none of your concern.’ That’s when it clicked that you were avoiding me. If you’d have been in an accident or something serious I think even Anya would have had the _decency_ to tell me,” Clarke says pointedly, making her feel about three inches tall. “So I imagine it must be awfully inconvenient for you - me coming in here and disrupting your routine like this, but I’m not leaving until you explain. You owe me that.”

She swallows down the lump that’s worked its way into her throat as she stares back at Clarke. She does owe her that. She really has fucked this up spectacularly by hurting one of the few people she cares about. But unfortunately it has to be this way; not just for the sake of her project but for the sake of her own wellbeing. She will resolutely _not_ be opening herself up to the notion of loving someone in that way again. It’s just too painful.

“I’m sorry that you’re upset,” Lexa says, dropping her gaze to the desk in what must be the world’s worst apology. “But what happened between us was wrong. We agreed that it couldn’t happen, at the very least not until after th-”

“You kissed me.”

Clarke’s words hang there like the inconvenient truth they are.

“ _You_ kissed _me_ ,” Clarke repeats, her voice unsteady. “ _You_ crossed that line, not me.”

And she did. They both wanted it to happen but she made that move because god, Clarke was just too damn tempting. How could she be expected to control herself when there was this devastatingly gorgeous woman stood in front of her who wanted her back? A woman equal parts hilarious and charming who continually said ‘fuck it’ to the rules and did everything her own way? How was she supposed to resist that?

“It was a mistake,” Lexa says, lifting her head.

Maybe if she says it loud enough, she’ll start to believe it.

“Sure didn’t sound like a mistake when you were telling me you wanted me,” Clarke counters bitterly. “The hickey I’m hiding beneath this collar doesn’t look like much of a mistake either.”

Lexa feels the burn of an intense blush upon her cheeks. She’s not normally one to leave marks but obviously the champagne made her sloppy. Though something about the temporary evidence on Clarke’s skin, a fleeting reminder that for a moment she allowed herself to give in and be free, is comforting. She suppresses the thought at once.

“I didn’t intend...” Lexa falters under Clarke’s sceptical frown. She absolutely _did_ intend. “I- despite what I may or may not want, this _cannot_ happen, Clarke. You know that. I cannot cavort around, shirking my responsibilities and sleeping with my employees just because-”

Clarke’s laugh is harsh and humourless. “Is that why you ran away? Because you think we _fucked_?” she challenges, letting out another bark of laughter.

Lexa flinches at the term. If it was said to make her feel uncomfortable, then congratulations, it worked. Wait a second...did Clarke say _think_? Because that would imply they-

Clarke shakes her head incredulously. “We didn’t have sex,” she deadpans. “In fact we barely even made it to second base before you passed out.”

“Oh,” Lexa breathes out. “Good.”

She immediately cringes. Good? _Good?!_ What a fucking terrible reaction. She can’t stay awake long enough to have probably mind-blowing sex with a gorgeous woman and that’s supposedly good? Jesus fucking Christ. The only good thing about it is Clarke doesn’t have a memory of a disappointing drunk sexual encounter. Maybe she should make a joke about her own shortcomings - that’s probably what Clarke would do.

 Only Clarke doesn’t look like she’s in the mood for joking now. In fact from where Lexa’s standing, it looks like Clarke might be moving past her angry phase and heading full steam towards sadness. Especially if her dejected frown is anything to go by.

“We could have talked about it you know?” Clarke says quietly. “Whatever you were feeling, whatever you needed to say, I would have listened. I would have tried to understand.” A beat passes. “Don’t you trust me?”

Clarke sounds so despondent, so lacking in that usual light airiness that she effortlessly exudes. Lexa can taste the guilt on her tongue, can feel the regret hammering in her chest. This is not what she wanted.

“I do trust you, Clarke,” Lexa says, truth echoing in every syllable. “I swear it. But we can’t do this, you know that. _I_ can’t do this.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“ _Clarke_ ,” Lexa warns.

“ _Lexa_ ,” is the mocking reply thrown back to her.

She sighs and looks away, focusing on nothing in particular. This is so far removed from how she wanted this conversation to go. They were supposed to come to a mutual agreement, not get pulled into some catastrophic mess of emotions. She’s fucking delusional if she thought for a second Clarke would just accept that. That same defiance is one of the many reasons she was drawn to Clarke in the first place.

Clarke’s brow furrows to form a deep frown. “You know what?” she scoffs. “I was wrong about you. You are a coward.”

Lexa prickles. She may have said that about herself after too many glasses of wine a few short days ago, but hearing the accusation come from Clarke’s mouth hurts like a physical blow.

Clarke stands up, placing her palms flat on the desk and leaning forward until she’s inches away from Lexa’s face. “You say having feelings makes people weak, but you’re weak for hiding from them. And you know what the real kicker is?” she pauses, blue eyes locking onto green. “You’re a liar. ”

Ok, that touches a nerve. She’ll stand being called a lot of things but a liar? Unacceptable. She’d thrown Clarke out of her office that last time the blonde had uttered that line. She clenches her jaw and pushes back from her desk abruptly, drawing herself up to her full height in some vague hope of appearing intimidating.

Clarke just looks more determined than ever, straightening up, crossing her arms and jutting her chin in a clear sign of defiance. Clearly Clarke has no intention of leaving this room until she’s said her piece.

“You’re lying to yourself,” Clarke presses, tilting her head to the side. “Acting like you’re impervious to Nia’s underhand tactics? Pretending that you’re not still haunted by Costia’s betrayal? You want everyone to think you’re above it all but I see right through you.”

Something inside her snaps. Clarke has gone too far. Try as she might, Clarke has no idea, cannot possibly begin to fathom what she’s been through to get to this point. Clarke also doesn’t know that she’s agonised over this very confrontation for the past two days as she reluctantly tried to piece together her feelings.

“Get out.”

She doesn’t recognise her own voice. It sounds cold, distant even, void of any emotion. Clarke doesn’t move, still staring at her unwavering with that same air of quiet resistance.

 Before she knows it, she’s crossing the room in long strides, walking straight past Clarke and stopping just in front of the door. She doesn’t look at Clarke when she repeats her command through gritted teeth. She merely holds the door and waits for the blonde to make her exit. 

The seconds tick by at an agonising pace before Clarke eventually admits defeat and slowly crosses the room to stand in front of her. Lexa’s eyes are glued to the floor. She doesn’t want to make this any more difficult than it already is...if that were even possible.

“Fine,” Clarke says flatly. “I’ll walk out of this room and we’ll never speak about what happened between us again if that’s what you want.”

It should be but it isn’t.

“I’ll do that,” Clarke promises. Lexa can hear the quiver in her voice. “I'll leave. But only if you can look me in the eye and tell me it meant nothing to you. That’s all I’m asking.”

Well, isn’t that a complete fucker of an ultimatum?

She looks up slowly, gaze sticking on the spot just left of Clarke’s ear before she finally summons the courage to meet her eyes. Clarke’s looking back at her in earnest with pools of cerulean so deep she could drown in them. She would, willingly.

“Tell me I meant nothing,” Clarke whispers almost pleadingly.

Lexa’s heart wrenches in her chest and it feels as though the air has been stolen from her lungs. Tell Clarke she meant nothing to her? God, she could _never_. She might not be well equipped to process her emotions but she’s certain of one thing. She wants Clarke. That’s the only constant. The only surety she has and hell, she’s _never_ letting that go, past experience be damned.

She moves automatically, waiting only until she hears the reassuring click of the door closing before she takes a step forward, cradles Clarke’s face in her hands and brings their lips together. She just about manages to suppress a sob, sliding her eyes closed when Clarke’s lips move against her own without missing a beat. The rush of relief she feels is unparalleled.

She lets Clarke take the lead, keeping her own movements deliberately slow and cautious lest she somehow ruin the moment. She doesn’t realise just how much she’s shaking until Clarke gently pulls her hands away and entwines their fingers together, squeezing reassuringly. Just when she starts to relax, Clarke draws back a little, sighing softly as she rests their foreheads together.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Clarke murmurs against her lips.

She’s never been so sure of anything in her life.

“I just want _you_ ,” Lexa gasps, her voice cracking. She’s never been more honest in her life. “I’m so sorry, Clarke. I’m-”

Clarke shushes her gently and a second later she feels the blonde smile against her lips. It sends the butterflies in her stomach into a frenzy. Because that smile tells her maybe it’s not too late. Maybe it’s not too late to give this a second chance. She doesn’t know who she was trying to convince when she tried to put an end to whatever this undeniable connection between them is, but she’ll gladly let herself be consumed by it.

“It’s ok,” Clarke tells her, ghosting her lips over Lexa’s own. “Just keep kissing me.”

So she does, her nose brushing against Clarke’s own as she leans in to kiss her again. She’s bolder this time, more determined as their mouths slide against each other like they’ve done this same dance a thousand times before. She trails her tongue along the seam of Clarke’s lips and lets out a small involuntary gasp when they part at once, Clarke’s tongue sweeping out to meet her halfway.

Lexa’s heart beats double time when Clarke guides her hands to her waist and hums into the kiss. She takes the initiative and slides her hands to press on Clarke’s lower back, drawing her closer until they’re flush against each other. Clarke drapes her arms over her shoulders and she thinks she could stay like this forever, perfectly content to continue this languid pace as Clarke’s tongue slides against her own.

Though she silently wonders how long they’ll realistically be able to keep up this slow, controlled exploration considering what happened last time they did this. They might be sober but she still feels just as lightheaded and impossibly giddy with the thrill of it all as she did at Clarke’s apartment. Except now she’s just drunk on the feel of Clarke pressed against her. What a tragically hopeless romantic she is.

She gets her answer when Clarke’s teeth graze her lower lip and she bites down. That’s the catalyst. In a split second everything changes between them from the strangled sound that escapes her throat to the sudden pulsing she feels between her thighs. She kisses Clarke with renewed vigour, licking across the roof of her mouth and revelling in the soft moans she’s rewarded with.

Tilting her head she places a kiss to the corner of Clarke’s mouth and then drags her lips along the expanse of her jaw. When she flicks her tongue over the shell of her ear, Clarke shivers involuntarily, her fingers digging into Lexa’s shoulders in an effort to pull her closer still. Taking it as a sign of encouragement, she kisses a trail down Clarke’s neck before latching onto her pulse point, nipping the skin and then soothing the area with her tongue.

The groan Clarke releases at this new sensation borders on obscene and sends a jolt of arousal straight to her core. Keeping one hand gently massaging Clarke’s waist, she brings the other up to pull down the collar of her shirt. She pauses for a moment, admiring the faint purple mark she’d carelessly left a couple of nights ago before leaning in and reclaiming the skin once again.

Clarke’s panting in her ear now, her breathing shallow and hitching every so often when Lexa’s teeth graze across her collar bone. With nimble fingers she pops open a couple of buttons on Clarke’s shirt and catches a glimpse of pink lace, pausing for a moment to admire the swell of perfectly shaped breasts. Clarke is beautiful. Each new part of her Lexa lays eyes on only serves to strengthen that fact.

 Clarke’s hand on the back of her head urges her down and she eagerly obliges, dipping lower and sucking greedily at the newly exposed skin before kissing her way back up the column of Clarke’s throat. When Clarke tilts her head back to grant her better access, she knows she adds more than a few fresh marks to join the first one. Then, as she scrapes her teeth along the taught tendon of Clarke’s neck, she decides that Clarke’s soft mewls of pleasure are her new favourite sound.

Everything’s happening so fast but she’s afraid if they slow down she might quite literally die. She would love to take her time. Would love nothing more than to slowly undress Clarke and spend hours mapping out the curves and contours of Clarke’s body with her mouth. She longs to trace the length of her with feather-light touches, finding out exactly what Clarke likes. Maybe there’s a sensitive spot where she’s ticklish at the back of her knee or the inside of her elbow. She bets there are hundreds of little quirks and secrets just waiting to be revealed. 

Bu they don’t have time for that, not right now. Not when Clarke’s hips are bucking into her, trying to seek out any sort of friction. She can sympathise. If she doesn’t touch Clarke soon, she’s certain she’s going to combust. They’ve both waited far too long for this.

The hand she’s got resting on Clarke’s waist slides lower until her fingers skim the waistband of the blonde’s skirt. Honestly, she never stood a fucking chance when Clarke walked in wearing this, the tight fit of the material hugging the curves of her hips in all the right ways. She dips her fingers just beneath the waistband and hesitates, waiting for any sort of signal that this is ok and she’s not, in fact, dreaming. Clarke murmurs something indiscernible into the crook of her neck.

“What?” Lexa asks breathlessly. Her heart is pounding so furiously she can barely hear herself speak.

“I said touch me,” Clarke husks, her breath hot on the shell of Lexa’s ear. “Please.”

She doesn’t need telling twice, flattening her palm against Clarke’s stomach and sliding down until she feels the lace edges of her underwear. Holding her breath she pushes down further until her fingers brush over damp cotton. She can’t tell who moans louder at the contact.

Clarke is soaked.

“Jesus,” Lexa says in an awed whisper. “You’re so fucking wet.”

She can feel Clarke’s smirk against her neck. “She said with surprise in her voice for some reason.”

Lexa resists the urge to roll her eyes because of course even now, when she’s touching Clarke in the most intimate of places, Clarke is still at it with the sarcastic comments. She probably shouldn’t find it quite so endearing but she does. It’s yet another sign that she’s falling harder and faster than she ever could have anticipated. Still, it’s a little annoying just like it’s intended to be. Clarke already knows just how to push her buttons.

Lexa pulls back for a moment to look her in the eye. “Clarke,” she practically growls. “Shut up.”

She drives her point home by cupping Clarke through her underwear, fingers applying a teasing pressure as she runs them up the length of her clothed slit. It has the desired effect when Clarke’s mouth goes slack and her eyes flutter closed. She can’t help the smug grin that creeps across her features as she repeats the movement, slowly dragging her fingers up and down the material as Clarke keens into her.

Clarke forces her eyes open, her smirk slow and deliberate. “Why don’t you make me?”

And everyone knows, _everyone_ knows that those words are like throwing gasoline onto a raging fire of sexual tension. So it’s Lexa who smirks now, watching Clarke’s eyes darken as she leans in slowly, stopping less than an inch away from her lips. Clarke’s breath hitches in anticipation.

“Fine,” Lexa mutters, tearing her mouth away before Clarke can kiss her.

Clarke releases a groan of frustration as Lexa stops her ministrations and removes her hand. It’s a sound that transforms into a squeak of surprise when Lexa slides her hands around the back of Clarke’s thighs and lifts her from the ground almost effortlessly. There are many perks of slaving away at the gym almost daily and this is one of them, she thinks as Clarke’s legs wrap around her waist. The momentary look of surprise Clarke wears gives way to one of pure lust, eyes darkening before she leans in to kiss her deeply.

Lexa’s not sure how she manages it – how she’s able to walk them both over to her desk when Clarke’s tongue is so determined in its exploration and sensation of dull nails lightly raking over her scalp is distracting in the best kind of way. She does though, breaking the kiss only to drop Clarke to the desk with a soft thud. It’s a little rough but if the way Clarke’s looking up at her hungrily, eyes wide as she licks her lips is any indication, she’s more than ok with the way this is going.

She steps between Clarke’s legs and dips her head down to capture kiss-swollen lips once again. She’s trying to maintain some level of self-restraint but when Clarke’s making those tiny sounds of pleasure every time she nibbles the shell of her ear, her neck, her jawline – well, its becomes infinitely more difficult. 

Any semblance of control they had soon becomes lost when she slides her hands over the smooth skin of Clarke’s thighs and lingers for only a second at the hem of her skirt before continuing upwards. When her fingers reach the edges of lacy underwear, Clarke’s already one step ahead of her, lifting her hips so that she can be rid of the offending garment. She’s anything but graceful when she frantically tugs the soaked material down Clarke’s legs, but who needs grace when the slide of Clarke’s tongue is hot against her own, impatience all too apparent in the way hands fly to her shoulders and  grip desperately.

When her fingers meet the slick heat of Clarke’s centre for the first time, the moan she lets out is fucking obscene. Clarke’s right there with her, mouth falling open and eyes sliding closed as Lexa’s fingers part her folds and she finally starts exploring her in the way they’ve both been longing to.

“ _Fuck_ ,” the word slips past Clarke’s lips, studded with pure relief.

At any other time Lexa might have made a smug sarcastic comment about that being _exactly_ what they were doing but right now she’s not even sure of her own name. Instead she crashes their mouths together, tongue flicking across the roof of Clarke’s mouth as she draws wide, lazy circles around her clit, deliberately missing the sensitive bundle of nerves. She continues her teasingly slow pace, fingers gathering wetness until Clarke’s making those sweet little mewls of frustration again – non verbal pleas that she punctuates with the canting of her hips to gain more friction.

Lexa relents, dipping her fingers lower to tease Clarke’s entrance. She wraps her free hand around Clarke’s waist in an effort to steady her and then pulls back just enough so she can see the expression on Clarke’s face as she sinks two fingers into her, right up to the knuckle.

Clarke cries out as she throws her head back, nails digging into Lexa’s shoulders so hard she knows it’ll probably bruise. She doesn’t care. Not when she slowly starts moving in and out of Clarke, withdrawing  nearly all the way before pressing back into her again, each time with renewed purpose as she sets a steady rhythm. Everything about this is frantic, rushed, dirty, but it’s what she needs. What she’s been craving.

She’s in awe of the way Clarke seems to draw her in, marvelling at the sound of her fingers plunging into slick heat over and over. When Clarke seizes a handful of her hair and pulls her in for a rough kiss she curls her fingers upwards, searching for that special spot that she knows will have Clarke coming undone. She eagerly swallows the moan the rips from somewhere low in Clarke’s throat when she does, stoking determinedly against her front wall.

When she grins more than a little smugly into the kiss, Clarke’s response is to bite down to her lower lip before drawing it into her mouth and sucking hard - a reminder not to get too cocky. She might be the one with her fingers buried inside Clarke, but there’s no mistaking who’s truly in charge here. Not when Clarke throws a leg around her waist and grinds her hips down to meet her thrust for thrust, eyes screwed closed in concentration as her release builds.

She doubles her efforts, adding a third digit as she increases her pace, fingers curling on every second thrust. Clarke’s thighs begin to shake and her soft moans fill the room between the gaps of their laboured breathing. She fleetingly thinks about how they should try harder to be quiet, praying no one in the office hears them. Though she’d by lying if she said the thought of their colleagues beyond that door, totally unaware of their present situation, didn’t add to the intensity of it all.

When Clarke opens her eyes to look at her, her breath catches in her throat. Never has she seen anything so completely enthralling as Clarke’s expression in this moment, eyes lidded and glassy and so impossibly blue. She senses that somewhere along the way, somewhere between hurried touches and frantic kisses, something changed between them. When Clarke leans up to capture her lips in a surprisingly gentle kiss, her heart skips a beat and then beats twice as fast to compensate.

This is more than just sex. It was almost going to be about more than just sex. She didn’t quite realise how much more until this very moment.

She changes her pace, thrusts becoming slower but deeper and harder as Clarke’s walls tighten around her fingers. Her free hand moves to try and ground Clarke’s hips as they buck wildly with the approach of her climax. She kisses her, drags her thumb over her clit in time with the curling of her fingers and feels the body beneath her go rigid as Clarke’s orgasm washes over her.

Lexa will remember this moment until the day she dies; the image of Clarke coming with her back arched, mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure as her walls flutter around her fingers. She thrusts at a slower pace, working Clarke through her orgasm as she watches her fall apart in the most perfect of ways. She can scarcely believe this - that Clarke, so pliant and soft and beautiful beneath her, feels the same way as she does.

When Clarke stops shaking she withdraws slowly, smiling when Clarke releases a blissful sigh into the air between them. Clarke presses a soft kiss to her lips and then rests her forehead against Lexa’s own, breath mingling together. Neither of them speak, both content just to be close to each other and enjoy the moment a while longer.

Clarke’s knuckles brush along the underside of her jaw and she finds herself being pulled in for another kiss, this one slower and more sensual than any they’ve shared before now. There’s no urgency at all. It’s languid and its perfect.

 She becomes all too aware of her own arousal, her underwear undoubtedly ruined and the space between her thighs now uncomfortably damp. It’s to be expected - watching someone you care about lose themselves in orgasmic  bliss will do that to a woman.

Clarke’s hands begin to wander, sliding down to her waist until she feels fingers impatiently tugging at her shirt. She breaks the kiss, drawing back to look Clarke in the eyes. There’s so much she wants to say – a burning need to reiterate to Clarke that this means so much more to her than just some lustful physical act. Because her feelings for Clarke aren’t weakness – they’re everything. _She’s_ everything. And Clarke deserves to know. She owes her that.

“Clarke,” she’s surprised by the softness of her own voice.

Clarke hums, her fingers still toying with the hem of Lexa’s shirt as she fixes her with a lazy smile.

Lexa swallows thickly. “I need to tell you something. You need to know that I...I-”

The office door flies open so abruptly that they never had a chance.

“Lexa! You need to...oh fuck.”

Over Clarke’s shoulder she can see Anya standing in the doorway, mouth hanging open as whatever she had been about to say dies on her lips. She supposes Anya’s cartoonish expression of shock would be comical had she not just been caught in the most compromising of compromising positions. At least Anya is consistent in her terrible timing, she thinks bitterly.

Clarke slides from the desk in an instant, clumsily bumping into Lexa as she tugs her skirt down around her thighs. Both of them now face Anya like criminals on trial. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Clarke’s cheeks are flushed practically crimson in certain embarrassment. She imagines her own face has probably drained of all colour as she looks at Anya with an expression that’s half-pleading and half-guilty.

Lexa runs a hand through her dishevelled hair. “Anya this isn’t-”

“I don’t have time for whatever excuse you’ve got planned,” Anya dismisses. Lexa doesn’t miss the urgency in her tone. “You need to get out here. Right now.”

A deep crease appears between her eyebrows. Anya seems worried – fearful, even. Anya’s never scared. Whatever this is, it’s bad.

“What’s wrong?” Lexa asks, casting a furtive glance at Clarke. “What happened?”

Anya drops her gaze to the floor. When she looks up again her expression is one of sympathy. “Someone hacked the security system. Lexa...the work for the Polaris project, its...it’s gone. All of it.”

It feels as though the ground has been pulled from beneath her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading - please do let me know if you're enjoying the story!  
> I am also lurking on tumblr an mostly reblogging clexa stuff at toolateintheday  
> Until next time!


	15. Smoke and Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Its been almost a month but here I am, back from the dead to bring you another chapter.  
> Apologies for the long wait but real life has been so inconvenient.  
> Anyway, many thanks for your patience, kudos and comments. I love you guys.  
> This is another Lexa chapter. I rewrote it around 3 times but hopefully you'll like how it turned out.  
> FYI its a little angsty but here is the aftermath of THAT reveal...

Lexa POV

 

“Someone hacked the security system. Lexa...the work for the Polaris project, its...it’s gone. All of it.”

The silence that stretches out between the three of them is excruciating, feeling more like long hours rather than a matter of seconds. Anya’s words hang stagnant in the air like a death knell as she blinks slowly once, twice, trying to process their meaning.

 Eyes fixed on her best friend’s grave expression all the while, she comes up with nothing. There’s _nothing_. There’s nothing beyond Clarke’s sharp intake of breath and the sound of her own heartbeat pounding furiously in the telltale signs of panic. It looks like her heart’s reaction is well ahead of her mental processing ability once again. Only this time it’s considerably less fun than losing herself in the feeling of Clarke’s body pressed against her own and letting instinct take over.

When the information begins to take on some semblance of meaning, when the reality of the situation finally hits her full force, her stomach lurches violently. She feels sick; physically sick as the building sensation of dread washes over her in fierce, nauseous waves.

She releases the breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding and feels her shoulders sag under the weight of responsibility. That’s because whatever tragedy has transpired beyond these four walls, whatever misfortune has befallen this project, the burden falls squarely on her. She knows this.

Too stunned for words, she sways slightly on the spot as a barrage of questions race through her mind. She sees every single one of them mirrored in Clarke’s eyes when she casts a wary glance to her right. The obvious fear present in deep blue orbs only serves to make her feel worse. This is beyond bad. It’s fucking catastrophic.

“What do you mean _gone_?” Clarke croaks, looking back to Anya. “It...it can’t all be gone.”

Clarke’s tone is so far beyond pleading, it verges on desperate. She thinks if she opened her mouth to speak now, her own voice would sound remarkably similar.

“I meant exactly what I said, blondie,” Anya says, for once without any bite to her tone. “Anything and everything to do with the Polaris project is gone.”

It’s the look of utter dismay on Clarke’s face that jolts her back into action. This is not what leaders do. Leaders do not panic, they assess the situation, they make a judgement call and they find a solution.  If the situation is as dire as she suspects, they have no more time to waste fretting over what is already done.

“Tell me what you know,” Lexa says, tucking her shirt back into her pants as she speaks. “Everything,” she adds, locking eyes with Anya. “I need to know exactly what happened.”

Anya straightens, hands clasped behind her back in a stance Lexa picked up from her many years ago. “There’s not much detail as of yet but these are the facts. Blake logged into the system to edit the video her team have been working on for the past three weeks. Only she couldn’t find it. Naturally she called Reyes to try and rectify the problem, thinking maybe it was something to do with a software update.”

Anya pauses for a second and Lexa tries not to snap at her to just get on with it. “Only it wasn’t. Reyes tried to access it herself but the video files, along with anything else Polaris related has disappeared from the shared drive without a trace. She said it looks as though the whole thing has been wiped completely clean. Purposely.”

Lexa pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales audibly. She’s trying not to jump to conclusions with such limited information but everything that she’s heard so far smacks of interference, of foul play. Her mind automatically jumps to Azgeda and Nia Queen. If her nemesis is indeed behind this assumed hack then the repercussions will be swift and severe.

“And why didn’t Raven think to come straight to me about this?” Lexa questions irritably, glaring at Anya. “How do you know about all of this before I do?”

It’s probably not the next question she should be asking but she can’t help feeling a twinge of annoyance. She is the authority on this project. She should be the first to know of any changes, from minor ones right through to potential disasters such as this.

Anya’s lips purse into a thin line. “She tried to call you,” she offers, eyes pointedly cutting to the space behind Clarke. “Guess there’s something wrong with your phone.”

Lexa follows her line of sight and feels a furious blush creep up her neck when her eyes land on her desk phone. It’s hanging off the edge of her desk by its cord, the receiver lying a good distance away from the main body of the machine and decidedly off the hook. Clearly at some point during her tryst with Clarke it had found a new home on the floor along with several other items of stationary and paperwork. She hadn’t even noticed.

Clarke, cheeks burning an impressive shade of red, catches her eye for a split second. It’s strange that even with the situation seeming so dire; Clarke’s mere presence offers a fleeting moment of calm. There’s the smallest of shy smiles before they both come hurtling down to reality when Anya clears her throat somewhat awkwardly.

Lexa readjusts her posture. “Where is Raven now?”

“Swearing furiously at Blake’s computer,” Anya drawls. “She was surrounded by a crowd of idiots throwing around stupid and impertinent questions the last I saw of her.”

Lexa stiffens. Surrounded by a crowd of idiots? She doesn’t have time to berate Anya for belittling her staff right now because that means-

“How many people know about this?” Clarke asks, taking the words right out of her mouth.

The almost imperceptible sag of Anya’s shoulders would go unnoticed by most; but for her, a strategist trained in body language and non-verbal communication, it’s a certain omen of things to come. And not a good one.

Anya shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “By now, I expect the entire team. Could have even spread further afield. I wouldn’t be surprised given the frankly ridiculous racket your co-workers were making,” she adds, sparing Clarke a particularly sour look.

The revelation is like a slap to the face, harsh and unexpected. For the second time in as many minutes she feels as though the world has been pulled out from beneath her feet, leaving her in freefall. This is bad. This is beyond bad.  In fact it’s a complete clusterfuck.

She had been foolishly hoping for some sort of containment on this disastrous turn of events but much like office gossip, work-related fuck ups have a way of spreading like wildfire. Instantly the writings of Chomsky spring to mind and she finds herself reciting the theory of the bewildered herd. Groups of people can be easily whipped into a frenzy of panic and paranoia when they’re only fed half the facts. The problem is she doesn’t have _all_ the facts. Not yet.

“You can’t blame people for being upset,” Clarke counters hotly. “My co-workers, my _friends_ , just found out that all the work they’ve done for the better part of a month is gone, maybe forever. Where’s your compassion?”

 “This is not a playground,” Anya snaps back. “We do not act like petulant children and lose our heads when presented with a dilemma. We remain calm and level headed in the face of adversity.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Nice empathy you have there. Did you pull that straight from Leadership for Dummies?” she deadpans. Anya’s nostrils flare. “And don’t pretend you’re not just as panicked as they are. If this project goes tits up then we all lose our jobs, _you_ included.”

She doesn’t falter when Anya throws her a sideways glance that says “ _she_ knows?” That little tidbit of information, the part about the future of the LA office hanging in the balance, is meant to be a closely guarded secret. No one is supposed to be privy to that information besides Gustus, Indra and the two of them. But she doesn’t falter because she’d trust Clarke with anything, including but not limited to, her life. The realisation sends a jolt of shock right through her because just when the hell did _that_ happen?

“Do not deign to discuss matters which you know nothing about,” Anya hisses, taking a dangerous step closer to Clarke who foolishly or bravely stands her ground. “You have no idea of-

“Enough,” Lexa cuts in, tone unmistakably stern. “Go out there and bring Raven to me immediately. Do not engage with anyone else. Do not acknowledge their obvious panic. Just bring her in here as discreetly as you are able to. Go now.”

Anya purses her lips into a thin line at her commandeering tone but says nothing, exiting the room with a parting grunt. The door closes behind Anya with a soft click and her stoic facade drops in an instant. She leans heavily on the desk for support, head bowed and eyes closed, exhaling audibly as she allows herself to fully react to the emotional turbulence of the past five minutes. How has her mood gone from blissful to despondent in such a short period of time?

The hand that comes to rest on her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly is unexpected but altogether welcome. It’s a simple gesture but it’s enough to calm her for a brief moment; it’s enough to remind her she’s not completely alone, not matter how much it might feel otherwise.

Delicate fingers tilt her chin up and she stares directly into blue eyes swimming with concern. Her own eyes flutter closed when soft lips press against her forehead in the sweetest of kisses, the action feeling simultaneously familiar and totally alien. Her heart thunders deep within her chest as Clarke’s arms encircle her shoulders and pull her into a sure embrace, the blonde’s face buried in the crook of her neck.

Clarke’s soft, reassuring “It’ll be ok,” is almost believable when it’s whispered into her hair. Almost, because neither of them can possibly know that it _will_ be ok. It’s just that Clarke happens to be somewhat of an optimist whereas she’s firmly grounded in reality; so much so that her pragmatism can occasionally be mistaken for pessimism.

But she doesn’t voice any of her doubts. She can’t, even if she wanted to. So instead she mumbles “I know,” into Clarke’s shoulder, hoping that the words sound more convincing out loud than they do in her own head.

Clarke pulls back to look at her, cerulean eyes brimming with concern before giving way to the wry smile that graces her lips. She can’t be certain but it looks as though Clarke may be struggling to fight off laughter.

“What?” Lexa frowns, wondering what could possibly be amusing at a time like this. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because,” Clarke says, smiling wider now. “Your lipstick is smudged.”

Lexa’s frown deepens. “I’m not wearing any lipstick.”

Clarke cocks an eyebrow. “No, but I am,” she says, reaching up to swipe her thumb across Lexa’s lower lip and the small patch of skin beneath. “Or should I say, I _was_.”

And damn if she doesn’t hate herself a little for the way she blushes when the penny finally drops. She groans internally when her eyes flit down to full lips curved in the smuggest of smiles. Without meaning to she finds herself leaning forward, as though there’s some invisible gravitational pull between them that’s futile to resist.

She presses a chaste yet lingering kiss to Clarke’s lips before pulling back, keeping her eyes closed for a few seconds longer than necessary.

When she opens them again, Clarke’s expression isn’t as playful as before though her small smile remains intact. It’s subtle, but she recognises the hint of uncertainty in blue eyes. It brings about an unpleasant pulling sensation in her chest and she knows exactly why. In all the chaos of it all, they haven’t had a chance to discuss what happened between them. It hangs in the air, not quite awkward, but altogether unspoken.

The kicker is that anything she says now will be marred by this unfortunate turn of events. This isn’t the right time to explain to Clarke that this morning wasn’t a one-time thing, that it isn’t just some sordid tryst they’re supposed to move on from. This isn’t the right time to reassure Clarke that she won’t shut her out again and that her feelings run deeper than even she realised. This isn’t the right time to confess that she’s helplessly, desperately, in love with her.

“I should probably leave,” Clarke sighs, stepping back to put some space between them. “Before Anya and Raven come back, I mean. It’s gonna be pretty intense whilst you try to figure out wh-”

“No, stay,” Lexa dismisses, grasping Clarke’s hand. “I need you.”

The words leave her mouth without permission and she freezes, holding her breath on instinct.

What a fucking colossal overstep.

True, this isn’t the first time her mouth has acted without her brain’s consent when Clarke’s around, but this is in a different league entirely. The bob of Clarke’s throat as she swallows is impossible to ignore as the pregnant silence stretches on between them.

She starts to silently panic, realising she’s revealed infinitely more than intended with those three words. It’s too late to take them back now but perhaps she could try to-

 “Then I’m here,” Clarke murmurs, thumb brushing over Lexa’s knuckles as she squeezes her hand reassuringly. “I’m here.”

She releases the breath that’s been burning in her chest and the relief that that washes over her is divine. Unfortunately it’s altogether too brief as the gnarled fingers of dread claw relentlessly at the corners of her mind, reminding her of just how they came to be having this conversation in the first place.  

She releases Clarke’s hand crosses the room to pull her blazer back on. Even if she doesn’t feel much like a leader right now, she can at least look the part, right? The truth is her head is a mess. She has no idea what direction to take. If all the work from the past month truly is gone, what are their options? Give up? Start over? Plead for more time? All of those sound truly ridiculous.

“When I said it’ll be ok I meant it, you know?” Clarke calls from behind her. “Whatever this is, you’ll get us out of it.”

Lexa turns, adjusting her shirt collar. “You really think so?” she asks, meeting Clarke’s eyes once again.

“I know so. They don’t call you The Commander for nothing,” Clarke retorts teasingly, smiling with her tongue between her teeth.

Lexa rolls her eyes but the light humour pulls a small smile from her nonetheless. She finds herself grateful for Clarke’s presence for the umpteenth time this morning. Clarke Griffin truly is a lighthouse during a storm.

“Thank you.”

“For what? Making jokes at inappropriate moments?”

Lexa shakes her head. “No. For backing me.”

Clarke shrugs. “Always.”

 _Always._ The word slips from Clarke’s lips as though its second nature and this time it’s Clarke who looks startled by her own admission, eyes widening in surprise. That makes both of them even in terms of carelessly revealing how deeply they feel for each other. It’s alarming, just how intensely she cares for Clarke in a relatively short amount of time, but it’s comforting to know that she might not be alone in that level of intensity. Seems like they’re both in this together.

 “We’ll talk about this when everything’s resolved,” Lexa says, gesturing between the two of them. She swallows hard. “We’ll talk about us,” she tacks on, more firmly. “If that’s what you want?”

 “I’d like that,” Clarke nods, a little of the previous sparkle returning to her eyes. A beat passes. “Because there are so many things I-”

The office door swings open just as abruptly as it had before and the swell of noise from the office beyond that accompanies it causes them both to turn suddenly. Raven sweeps into the office in typically dramatic fashion, quickly followed by Anya who looks just as haughty as ever.

“Jesus fucking Christ it’s like the end of days out there,” Raven announces, her brow covered in a light sheen of sweat as she looks at them both wide-eyed. “Honestly the last time I saw people this worked up was when the air con broke back in 2015.”

“Do you think you could find it within yourself to summon the level maturity required for the present situation?” Anya hisses as she closes the door behind them a second later. “Or do you have some sort of condition that means you constantly need to make flippant remarks?”

“I’m gonna let that disparaging comment go because I know the stress of all _this_ ,” Raven says, jerking her thumb in the direction of the workspace, “is getting to you, cheekbones.”

It’s when Raven winks and Anya’s mildly irritated expression turns to one of pure rage that she decides to step in. The time for jokes is over.

“I didn’t summon you in here so you could bicker like children,” Lexa intones. Her voice is level but the glare she fixes the pair of them with speaks volumes. “Raven, tell me what the IT Team knows so far. What is the scale of the damage we’re dealing with here?”

Raven sobers immediately. “I assume you already know the files are missing?” she asks tentatively. Lexa nods once. “Well it’s about as bad as it could possibly be. Worse, even. Anything to do with Polaris has been completely scrubbed from the system. Videos, images, budgets, research, you name it, and it’s all gone without a trace. Whoever did this knew _exactly_ what they were doing. I mean this is a seriously professional job, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

She clenches her jaw so hard she’s afraid her teeth might somehow crumble under the pressure. Everyone present in this room, hell, everyone in the damn company _knows_ who did this. Though undoubtedly they’ll find no proof whatsoever when it comes to tracking down the perpetrator. Still, she remains composed, posture confident and hands clasped firmly behind her back as she gestures for Raven to continue.

“Some of the website Monty was building might be recoverable but that’s about it,” Raven offers glumly. “He’s down in the basement with Sinclair looking at how this could have happened but it’s all been radio silence,” she says, pointedly tapping the walkie talkie on her belt. “I don’t think we can assume that no news is good news this time.”

She absorbs this new information, brow furrowed in concentration as she pieces it together. Frankly it’s difficult to focus with the hubbub of the office beyond growing louder by the second. It would appear Raven hadn’t been exaggerating about the team’s distress but that’s to be expected in circumstances such as this.

 What she need is some sort of containment strategy – a way to bide time and stop matters getting out of control until she works out a decent plan. Perhaps they could float the idea that this whole thing was a system malfunction rather than the work of hackers. That notion is certainly less alarming and it gives the IT team time to-

“What about the back-up files?” Clarke intones. “Surely you’ll be able to find something on the hard drives?”

She sends Clarke a subtle sideways glance. Gut instinct tells her that Raven’s answer isn’t going to be anything positive. She’s no tech expert but surely the first thing Raven would have done is search the hard drive.

Raven shifts her gaze to the floor. “Yeah, that’s not gonna be an option.”

“What do you mean it’s not an option?” Anya questions with barely masked irritation. “Stop being cryptic.”

“I’m not being cryptic,” Raven shrugs dejectedly. “I’m not sure how to tell you this but...there are no hard drives. They’re gone.”

“What?!”

She’s not sure who blurts out the question. It’s a knee-jerk reaction to a baffling statement . Could have been Clarke, could have been Anya, hell, it could have been her. She can’t hear anything above the sound of her own heartbeat racing in her ears. This is decidedly not the news she wanted.

“The hard drives are gone,” Raven repeats, locking eyes with Lexa. “Physically, I mean. This wasn’t just a cyber attack. It’s as if someone strolled into the building, bypassed security, made their way to the fifth floor and helped themselves to our hardware.”

The silence that follows is painful but the revelation itself feels like a physical blow. Her legs move of their own accord, carrying her over to her desk where she crouches in front of her computer to inspect the tower. There’s still hope. Her office has been locked since Friday evening and her entire team have been transferring copies of their progress to her like she’d asked. As long as her hard drive is still intact then _oh_.

 It transpires that the perpetrator is also a dab hand at picking locks because her hard drive is missing like the rest. It makes sense really - no one so determined to destroy everything they’d worked tirelessly for would have let a locked door stop them. She sways slightly as she stands up, finding the urge to sob and collapse into the nearest chair almost impossible to fight.

 But she doesn’t give in. This isn’t over yet. They’re down but they’re not out. There has to be _something_ they can salvage from this mess.

Strategists do not concede just because the odds have temporarily shifted. Leaders find a way forward no matter how bleak it seems. For now she has to remain the picture of the composed professional but there’s no doubt in her mind that the anger will come later when she allows herself to feel it. Nia has brought the fight to her. The Azgeda matriarch has quite literally crossed enemy lines. This will not stand.

 “Explain to me how this could have happened,” Lexa says stiffly.

“I have no idea,” Raven tells her, shoulders sagging. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Surely the system would have flagged a breach?” Anya suggests, brow furrowed. “In addition to the security guard there are measures in place to prevent this kind of thing. For fucks sake, this is a Fortune 500 company! People can’t just stroll in off the streets and-”

“Unless they didn’t need to bypass the system,” Clarke says quietly. All heads turn to her. “I mean if it was someone who already had access to the building then they wouldn’t need to do any of that,” she trails off.

Her stomach lurches violently when a look of guilty recognition crosses Clarke’s face. Blue eyes met green across the room and she’s certain in that second they’ve just come to the same unfortunate yet probable conclusion. Clarke’s missing pass is a smoking gun and they both know it.

“You think there’s a traitor within Trikru?” Anya questions, sounding completely scandalised. “It’s almost impossible. After the whole Titus debacle the screening process has been rigorous. My team in legal have left no stone unturned so to throw around the accusation that-”

“She didn’t accuse anyone,” Raven interrupts defensively. “That’s just one possibility. Someone outside the company could have gotten their hands on a security pass. I agree it’s _unlikely_ but it’s not impossible.”

Raven’s knowing sideways glance to Clarke tells her the brunette must be aware of the missing pass. Raven’s likely the person who set Clarke up with a new one. She decides there and then that no one else can know about this. At the very least not until they’re certain the pass was used in the attack. Information like that getting out will result in immediate dismissal for Clarke and she simply will not allow that to happen. Besides, something about this doesn’t add up.

Clarke’s teeth worry her lower lip. “You see the thing is, I-”

“I’ve heard all I need to hear,” Lexa interrupts, holding her palm up for silence. She fully ignores Clarke’s scowl. “Raven, I want you to run an activity report. Find out if anyone’s been accessing 5th at irregular times and highlight any peculiar login patterns.”

Raven nods. “Sure. I’ll get Monty and Sinclair to help. Three pairs of eyes are better than one,” she says, already walking towards the door. “If you need me for anything else...”

Lexa inclines her head in thanks and then turns to back to Clarke and Anya. “Anya, find Indra and instruct her to gather my team in the boardroom and control the situation as best she can. Take Clarke with you, I’ll be there with a statement within the next five minutes. Then I want you to compile a list of everyone who has had access to this building in the past two months. Visitors, partners, outside contractors, _everyone_. We _will_ get to the bottom of this.”

Anya nods curtly and walks over to the door, hand on the handle as she waits expectantly for Clarke to follow. But Clarke doesn’t, of course. She stands her ground defiantly, hand on her hips and eyes boring into Lexa’s own, silently pleading for an explanation.

“Lexa, you cannot be serious,” Clarke says, frowning deeply. “You can’t just ignore this. I need to-”

“The only thing _you_ need to do is join the rest of your colleagues in the boardroom,” Lexa dismisses coolly. “I suggest you leave with Anya as instructed. Unless you wish to disobey a direct order from your superior, that is?”

It’s a bold move, pulling rank on Clarke like this. The way the blonde’s face falls momentarily before giving way to disgruntled scowl is evidence of that. But it is _necessary_. Despite what has happened between them, despite the way she feels about Clarke, she’s still the authority here and her decisions must be respected regardless of personal opinions. That fact by no means makes any of this easier when she has to witness the disappointment in Clarke’s eyes.

When it becomes clear that Clarke won’t be moving, Anya takes a purposeful step forward.

Lexa shakes her head. “Leave us,” she says, motioning at her best friend to leave the room.

 Anya sets her jaw and looks apprehensive, levelling Clarke with a suspicious glare which the blonde returns in equal measure. For a moment Lexa thinks Anya might offer some sort of protest but it doesn’t come. Instead Anya nods once and is gone in a matter of seconds, leaving her alone with Clarke once again.

As soon as the door closes, Clarke rounds on her as expected. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demands, moving to stand in front of her. Lexa doesn’t meet her eyes. “We both know this is _my_ fault so why didn’t you let me own up to it?”

Lexa sidesteps her and crosses to her desk. “Because we don’t _know_ that, Clarke,” she dismisses, finally picking the phone up from the floor and returning it to its rightful place. “That’s the point. We don’t _know_ anything. Do you want to gather the facts first or would you rather play the martyr and lose your job in some sort of self-righteous gesture?”

Okay, so that came out a little harsher than intended – Clarke’s hand on her wrist, spinning her around so they’re face to face tells her as much. She does meet Clarke’s eyes this time, cerulean orbs flashing with anger and frustration. Beneath that though, there’s fear. It’s written all over Clarke’s face.

“Cut the bullshit, Lexa,” Clarke hisses. “You know as well as I do that the missing pass and this...fucking catastrophe are connected. It’s too much of a coincidence for them not to be.”

"Then its a good thing that I tend not to deal in coincidence," Lexa says coolly. 

“Are you mocking me?” Clarke presses, eyes narrowing. “Is something about this amusing to you?”

Lexa just shakes her head again. “I’m not not mocking you. I just think you need to look at this rationally." 

It’s clearly the wrong thing to say as Clarke’s face flushes an impressive shade of pink. “Rationally?” she repeats disbelievingly. “I'm being very fucking rational about this. Those are my friends out there and I let them down. They could lose their jobs because of me, they deserve to know I fucked up. They deserve to know where to place the blame. I should be the one to look them all in the eye and tell them that, not you. ”

And oh, it’s impossible not to admire Clarke’s loyalty to her friends and colleagues. Perhaps some of the initial stubbornness she’d witnessed in those early weeks could be attributed to just that.

“And were you in charge of the project, you would be free to make that call. But you’re not,” Lexa tells her firmly. “And you can stop fretting over the missing pass as it will not be mentioned. Am I clear?"

"You can't just-"

"Am I clear?" Lexa repeats, arching an eyebrow warningly. "You will say _nothing_. This is _my_ judgement call to make and _I_ will handle this matter as I see fit. I know you’re just trying to help, Clarke, but the responsibility to decide what information is relevant to the team falls on me. I cannot let you interfere. I have to do this my own way and you have to let me.”

“Like hell I do,” Clarke scoffs, turning on her heel. She’s halfway to the door when she turns back, face like thunder. “Is this what we’re back to now? I’m your employee and you’re my boss so I’m just supposed to shut up and do whatever you say? Or do you want to throw me under the bus yourself, is that it – take the credit for catching the person responsible for all this?”

And ouch, that last one hurts like a knife to the gut. Clarke seems to immediately regret her words as she clamps her mouth closed and squeezes her eyes shut as though it will somehow magically erase what she said. She knows Clarke is lashing out but its difficult not to take that remark personally.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says, stepping forward to grasp Lexa’s hands. “I’m so sorry Lexa, I didn’t mean-”

“I know,” Lexa murmurs, brushing her thumbs over Clarke’s knuckles. “I know,” she repeats, quieter.

“I know you would never, I-”Clarke falters, shaking her head. “I’m just angry at this whole situation and I don’t understand why you won’t just let do the right thing.”

There’s a very good reason why she won’t. She’s been silently working on a theory for the past few minutes but now is not the time to get into the complexities of that. Now is not the time to let emotions rule. Now is the time for logic and rational decision making. It’s impossible to do so with Clarke distracting her.

“I am asking you to trust me on this,” Lexa says, swallowing the lump that’s formed in her throat. “Please. As your boss and as your...” she trails off.

Clarke’s expression softens into something akin to sympathy and Lexa’s right there with her. Because what are they? Friends? The word doesn’t seem right, it doesn’t fit. They’re so much more than that yet what they are has still to be defined. That’s a whole mix of emotions that they’ll have to process another time when there aren’t more pressing matters at hand.

“I want to trust you,” Clarke says quietly. The use of _want_ rather than _do_ is particularly jarring. “But you’re making it difficult. I know you think you’re doing me a favour by protecting me and I appreciate that, really I do but-”

 “Clarke, please just go,” Lexa breathes out, pulling her hands out of Clarke’s grasp and turning away from her. “You’ll be conspicuous in your absence and the last thing I need is more difficult questions coming my way. We will discuss this later. You have my word.”

She expects more resistance, further protests and arguments that she’s too tired to rebuke. Instead she hears Clarke’s final sigh of frustration and waits for the click of the door before letting out a stuttered breath.

Clarke’s right to a degree. She _is_ trying to protect her, but only from the woman’s own selfless urges to put others before herself. Clarke’s the kind of person who would blindly sacrifice herself for her friends regardless of the consequences.

But she won’t let that happen. Because at this point in time she’s pretty certain that Clarke’s missing ID has nothing to do with any of this. That’s the theory she’s been silently working on ever since it was mentioned in conversation. In fact, she’s sure this whole debacle was setup by Nia Queen to make it look exactly like Clarke was to blame.

 It’s a pretty cunning scheme; steal Clarke’s pass and then orchestrate an attack to implicate her. Clarke herself would think she’s at fault and management would be left with no option but to fire her. There would be no further need for investigation with Clarke’s admission of guilt. The team would lose an invaluable member and she would be personally hurt in the process, just like Nia planned.

It’s clever but there’s one fatal flaw: the timings don’t add up. If Clarke asked Raven for a new pass yesterday morning then her old one would have been deactivated immediately, rendering it useless. There’s no way it could have been used last night.

It’s a red herring - which means there’s someone else providing Azgeda with access. There’s at least one traitor in their midst. Only there’s no telling who it could possibly be. Assigning Anya to compile the recent visitor and employee records is a starting point but apart from that, there really isn’t much to go on.

As for Clarke...it’s not that she don’t trust Clarke, because she _does_ , with her life. It’s just that the saying “walls have ears” could be especially relevant given recent events. The cogs in her brain are already turning with the beginnings of a plan for victory and revenge. If she plays her cards right today  - if she conducts herself with an appropriate amount of faux-surprise and mock sincerity in front of everyone– this could all work in her favour in the long term.

Playing it dumb, that’s the key. If word gets back to Nia that she’s seemingly oblivious then it will be much easier to put her plot for revenge into play. Unfortunately that means Clarke, like everyone else, will have to be kept in the dark for now.

But that’s still to come. Right now she has a boardroom full of anxious employees to address. Then of course Gustus and the management team will be demanding their own explanation. The weight of responsibility returns, bearing down on her shoulders with a familiarity that isn’t as unpleasant as it once was. It’s heavy, sure, but not crushing.

The facts are these: all previous work is gone, likely forever. There’s at least one traitor in Trikru. They still have a month left to come up with something innovative to blow Polaris away and win the bid. It will be an incredible feat to pull off but she’s the one to inspire her team to victory.

Straightening her collar, she takes a deep breath and leaves the office, heading towards the boardroom with confident strides. If Nia Queen is sitting in her ivory tower thinking she’s won then she’s mistaken. The Commander is very much prepared for battle. 

She just has to hope that Clarke doesn’t pull any damn heroics before then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers for reading - please let me know if you enjoyed the chapter.  
> Next time: Clarke is angry and there's gay scheming...and a whole lot of other gay stuff.  
> Hassle me on tumblr at toolateintheday


	16. From Confusion to Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you, thank you, thank you for your continued support on this fic.  
> Seeing your kudos and reading all the comments truly does make my day.  
> This is a Clarke POV and picks up immediately after the last chapter.  
> I may have been a bit slow on the update, but here's 10k to make up for it  
> Enjoy!

Seething.

That seems like the most appropriate word to describe her current state as she exits Lexa’s office, barely resisting the urge to slam the door closed behind her. Whilst it would be a petulant reaction, it would without a doubt be highly satisfying. But she doesn’t, for both their sakes.

It’s probably best to avoid drawing attention to herself when tensions are already running high. If anyone sees her leaving Lexa’s office in a temper then they’ll start asking questions she doesn’t have the answers to.

Or worse yet, questions she _does_ have the answers to.

She needn’t have bothered trying to be inconspicuous because the workplace is deserted. Eerily so with paperwork strewn about, chairs hastily pushed back from desks and coffee cups left abandoned, steam still rising from within. It’s like the pivotal scene in one of those terrible zombie movies Raven and Octavia delight in watching so much. This is the part where everyone realises that they’re doomed so they abandon whatever the fuck they’re doing and hightail it out of there.

Her frown only deepens and she stalks towards the boardroom, muttering angrily under her breath the entire way. This morning has been a roller coaster of emotions and decidedly not the kind you want to ride again and again for the thrill of it. No, it’s the kind you walk away from feeling nauseous and filled with regret at having dared to step on board in the first place.

 She should have known that this day was doomed from the start when she’d woken pre-sunrise, squinting irritably at the glowing digits of her alarm clock. The only time she ever usually sees 5am is when she stumbles in from a particularly heavy night out with O, Raven and the rest of their ragtag group.

The ration of sleep she’d managed to get was fitful, dreams interspersed with images of emerald green eyes and sinfully tempting lips. It would appear that her brain has allowed Lexa into her subconscious, seemingly not content that a good proportion of her waking thoughts are occupied by the brunette already.

 This morning she’d been furious, features twisted into a permanent scowl as she stomped around the apartment like a bear with a sore head. It’s fortunate really, that Raven had decided to stay at Octavia’s the night before and therefore wasn’t subject to her foul mood. She’d spent the entire journey to the office mentally planning out exactly how she was going to confront Lexa, white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel tightening as she imagined all kinds of scenarios. None of them came to fruition.

It all boiled down her standing in front of Lexa with a clear ultimatum: admit that you feel something or tell me I’m nothing. It was reckless, especially considering there had been no plan b for the latter. She’d been counting on Lexa being brave enough to want her back. Turns out wearing her heart on her sleeve had paid off and for a few short minutes she’d been blissfully happy. _They’d_ been happy.

 Now she’s come full circle, right back to furious again. If she’s angry at Lexa then she’s absolutely livid with herself. Except livid doesn’t begin to cover it because there’s also the disappointment  of Lexa coldly rejecting her help accompanied by a sense of guilt that hangs like an albatross around her neck.

Because this is _her_ fault. That much is obvious.

Entering the boardroom is nothing like she’d expected. She had been anticipating full-out pandemonium; scenes of disarray as people lost their reserve and openly panicked. Only she finds the total opposite. There’s silence. Silence so heavy with anxiety and trepidation that it’s near suffocating. Its infinitely more unnerving than any amount of shouting and clamouring could ever be.

In fact, so startling is the scene before her that she pauses in the threshold, staring blankly into the room. The polished oak table that usually occupies the centre of the room has been pushed to the back to accommodate more chairs so that her colleagues now sit row upon row. When she stares into the faces of the people she’s worked with for the past two years she sees worry and concern mirrored back at her in every expression. Even Indra, famously stoic and unflappable, looks affected as she stands with her arms crossed in the far corner.

“Clarke, where have you been?” Octavia demands in a hushed whisper. The sudden appearance of her friend at her elbow makes her flinch. “I looked for you in the office but you weren’t there. Everything’s been fucking crazy this morning. No one seems to know what’s going on and...are you ok?” she pauses, tilting her head to the side as a crease forms between her brows.

What a question. Short answer? No. Long and complicated answer? Also no. Still she nods her head anyway because that’s what people do, isn’t it? They lie and say they’re fine because it’s the easy answer; it’s what the person asking the question wants to hear. Besides, Octavia, and indeed everyone else, is going to have enough to fret about when Lexa delivers her briefing.

“Okay, well then come on,” Octavia urges, tugging on her arm to pull her further into the room. “Come and sit next to me and Harper.”

She follows without resistance, allowing herself to be lead over the nearest row. She let’s herself sink into one of the leather-backed chairs, grateful to be off her shaky legs and feel something solid beneath her. That’s where the relief stops because it feels beyond wrong to be sitting in a room full of her peers knowing full well that she’s responsible for the hurt an anger they’re all shortly going to feel.

 Its dishonourable knowing that she’ll have to lie to the people she works with every day, the people she’s come to think of as friends rather than jus colleagues. Yes, everything about this is inherently wrong and it’s killing her. But hey, at least she’s got a front row seat to watch this travesty unfold.

Octavia turns to face her. “No one knows what’s going on,” she sighs frustratedly. “Word is there’s a software malfunction that’s screwing everything up. Did you hear about it?”

Clarke nods, mashing her lips together. God this is excruciating to listen to.

“I couldn’t access any of my files,” Octavia whispers, throwing a look over her shoulder to check that Indra isn’t glaring at them. The older woman’s eyes remain firmly trained on the floor. “Rae couldn’t either. And the last time I saw her she had that same look on her face as when Sense 8 got cancelled. Whatever this is, its bad.”

“I heard we were hacked,” Harper intones lowly, leaning across Octavia so not to be overheard. “Some sort of security breach. Azgeda probably. What do you think, Clarke?”

She freezes.

She doesn’t say anything. Even if she had all day she wouldn’t know what to say. Harper’s hit the nail on the head but she can’t bring herself to confirm the woman’s suspicions. Unable to come up with an intelligible answer she simply gapes at the pair of them, mouth open and blinking slowly in her best impression of a particularly dim goldfish.

 “That’s ridiculous,” Octavia chides, frowning at Harper. “You should know better than to listen to office gossip.”

Harper rolls her eyes, shoots them a low “whatever” and turns away to talk to Monroe.

“Idiot,” Octavia mutters under her breath. “Anyway, Indra said Lexa’s going to make some sort of announcement soon. Have you seen her this morning?” she adds, quiet enough so only the two of them can hear.

She swallows thickly and nods, already knowing what the next question will be.

“Well what did she say?” Octavia asks. The desperate tone of her voice is like a knife to the gut. “Do you know what happened?”

“She...she said,” Clarke croaks, struggling for words.

She’s only just realising that now she’s started talking she has no idea of what to say. That’s because _wanting_ to do what is right and _actually_ screwing your courage to the sticking place are two very different beasts. But is she really going to lie to Octavia’s face? No fucking way.

 “I-I mean, we found out tha-”

“She’s here,” Harper whispers, leaning in to interrupt their conversation much to Clarke’s relief.      

Sure enough when her gaze flits to the front of the room, Lexa is walking through the doorway with her head held high. She feels an irrational surge of anger when Lexa strides towards the podium that’s been placed front and centre, looking just as calm and composed as ever. How is it fair that Lexa gets to effortlessly exude this cool confidence when her insides feel like they’re on a rapid spin cycle?

She sinks further into her seat and crosses her arms, staring unblinkingly at the front of the room. Like everyone else, she waits on baited breath to hear what Lexa is going to say. True, she’s more knowledgeable about the details of this clusterfuck than her colleagues are, but it doesn’t mean she’s any the wiser when it comes to knowing Lexa’s course of action. The woman is as unpredictable as she is brilliant.

The room had been near silent before Lexa entered but now that she’s standing before them, eyes sweeping the crowd, there’s total stillness. She’s felt this before in Lexa’s presence; the woman seems to have this understated calming effect on people when the situation calls for it. And right now, the situation most definitely calls for it.

It’s rare, she notes, for anyone outside Lexa’s circle of trust to see anything but the intense commander persona she’s meticulously constructed over the years. It’s highly unlikely that they’d be witness to the incredibly soft and complex woman that resides beneath the professional exterior. And yet Lexa seems to have wordlessly struck a careful balance of both as she stands before them, relaxed expression betraying nothing of the pressure she must surely feel.

 “Let me start by thanking you all for gathering here,” Lexa begins, pausing briefly to survey them. Despite Clarke’s pointed stare, Lexa’s eyes do not land on her. “I appreciate this must have been a confusing morning for all of you and by now I imagine you have heard at least half a dozen different rumours as to why I have gathered you here. That is unless the office rumour mill is not what it once was?” she tacks on dryly.

There’s a faint murmur of agreement which gives Lexa all the confirmation she needs.

Angry as she is, she doesn’t envy Lexa at all for what she’s about to do. She wonders how Lexa will play this one given that the brunette has ruled out mentioning the missing pass. What possible direction is she going to-

“Whereas I would like nothing more than to tell you those rumours are false, I am afraid I cannot,” Lexa says gravely, steely-eyed as she stares into the crowd. “Honesty is the cornerstone of all success, and therefore it is my duty as the leader of this project to inform you that Trikru’s security system has been compromised. As of this morning, all work relating to the Polaris project is lost to us. Permanently.”

For long moments there’s nothing but quiet astonishment as the gravity of Lexa’s words set in. And even though she already _knew_ their files were gone, she’s left reeling with the rest of them because hearing it out loud isn’t any less jarring the second time around.

But then comes the delayed reaction so often seen in bad TV dramas.

The room erupts into the chaos. In that moment she’s starkly reminded of just how differently people react to terrible news. Some spring to their feet, anger flashing in their eyes. Others look completely disbelieving. One person straight-up bursts into tears. Next to her, Octavia visibly pales and looks ready to throw up, her eyes as wide as saucers.

“What do you mean its _gone_?”

“Who did this?”

“How could _you_ let this happen?!”

The crowd are relentless, a myriad of voices hurling question after question at Lexa whose expression remains neutral, her posture impeccable as always. Clarke has no idea how Lexa stays so calm but watching it all unfold, anger momentarily pushed aside, she’s in awe.

Then the surge of guilt returns because this isn’t Lexa’s cross to bear, not really. It’s hers. She should really-

“Enough!”

The hush is instantaneous.

She can’t decide if it’s the dangerous edge to Lexa’s voice cutting through the repetitive din that gives them pause, or whether it’s the volume at which she commands it. Either way, it’s effective. In the time she’s known Lexa, despite all the arguments they’ve had, Lexa has never once yelled or shouted to make her point. She never usually needs to but then again, these are not the usual circumstances.

“Enough,” Lexa repeats, softer this time. “I understand your frustration and believe me, I feel the same anguish as each and every one of you but I _will_ have order in this room. Do I make myself clear?”

The collective silence is answer enough.

“As I said, everything relating to Polaris is gone,” Lexa continues. “At this stage I can confidently state that we have been hacked though there are currently no leads as to how this may have happened. The relevant departments are searching tirelessly for answers and I myself will be conducting a thorough internal investigation into the matter. Rest assured that justice will be served.”

She scoffs inwardly. What was it Lexa had said earlier? Honesty is the cornerstone of success? Yeah right. If Lexa was so set on telling everyone the truth, she’d throw her to the mercy of the mob and tell them about the missing pass. But Lexa hasn’t so much as looked her in the eye this entire time.

Upon witnessing the dejected faces of her colleagues, the truth is undeniable. _She_ did this. She fucked up and now they’re all going to suffer for it. But she’s not going to take the easy way out.The buck stops here. Clarke Griffin is no coward and she’s certainly not a liar.

It’s when she’s halfway out of her seat that finally catches her eye. Emerald orbs pierce into her across the expanse of the room and she stares back hard. Although neither speaks, there’s a whole conversation taking place in just a few short seconds between locked gazes. Lexa tilts her head slightly and the look of earnest in those soulful eyes silently implores, ‘ _trust me.’_

And Clarke realises she _does_. God knows she does. She immediately abandons the thought of exposing their secret and sits back down, heart thundering in her chest. Octavia shoots her a sideways glance which she pointedly ignores, choosing instead to stare at the floor. She’s grateful when her friend tears her attention away to voice a question many of her colleagues must be thinking.

“So what are we supposed to do?” Octavia calls to Lexa, not quite able to mask the quiver in her voice. “Just start again, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” Lexa nods. “There’s no other choice. We must.”

“This is ridiculous!” Harper snaps. “It took us a month to do around 75% of the work and now you expect us to start over?”

Lexa’s expression hardens and she opens her mouth to reply when she’s cut off by a shout from the back of the room. “What’s the point?” Dax sneers. “Why should we run ourselves into the ground trying to fight a losing battle? If we don’t win this bid it’s your ass on the line, not ours.”

Indra’s on her feet in less than a second. “You dare to speak with such insolence?” she spits venomously. “Who do you think you’re-”

“Indra.” The shake of Lexa’s head has the older woman sitting back down again though she stills glowers darkly at Dax from her seat.

From where she’s sitting she can clearly see the tick of Lexa’s jaw as she glares at Dax, every pair of eyes in the room now watching their leader intently. She doesn’t fail to notice the way Lexa’s grip tightens on the edges of the podium, knuckles turning white before she relinquishes her hold and straightens up,  hands clasped behind her back. She recognises that stance at once. Dax is a dead man walking.

She wonders whether Lexa will bother to tear this idiot a new one before she dismisses him. She easily could with a few well placed words.  Or will she just straight-up order him to get out of her sight? Either way this isn’t going to be pretty.

“Actually, Mr Roberts, it’s not _my_ ass on the line as you so crudely put it,” Lexa says, arching an eyebrow. Dax frowns in response. He isn’t the only one. “Corporate wanted me to keep you in the dark on this matter but given recent developments I see no reason to be anything other than completely transparent with all of you,” she adds, pausing for a beat.

Hold on. Is Lexa really going to-

“This isn’t just a massive opportunity for the LA office. It’s a test. If we fail to secure this bid then Corporate will pull the plug. Simple as that. Every single one of you will lose your jobs.”

And just like that the uncomfortable silence descends again.

And fuck, Lexa did it. Lexa _actually_ did it.

 She gets it, unconventional tactics and unpredictable plays are Lexa’s signature, but _this_? She never would have seen this coming. This is something else entirely and truth be told, she’s not sure it was a good move at all. Honestly, what is Lexa hoping to achieve by making their job instability public knowledge? She can’t help but think this is going to cause more panic amongst her peers.

“I’m telling you this not as a threat, but as a fact. This isn’t a matter of me versus you. It’s _us_ versus _them._ The competition,” Lexa clarifies, looking into the crowd in earnest. “And if we don’t pull together on this then we _all_ fail.”

Lexa pauses to glance at Indra whose expression can only be described as thunderous. She wonders how much trouble Lexa’s going to get in for telling them all this. A lot, probably. Lexa might be Gustus’s right hand woman but disregarding a direct order from the top...

“I understand that this is a lot to process so I want you all to take the remainer of the day off,” Lexa says, sounding tired for the first time. Clarke’s heart wrenches. “Go home, consider your options, and take some time to think this over. For those of you who still wish to be a part of this team, there will be a strategy meeting tomorrow at 9am sharp. For those of you who don’t, I will waiver the standard notice period and accept resignations with immediate effect. There is no point in you being here if you’re not willing to give this everything you’ve got.”

“Whatever you decide, remember that none of you made it this far on merit alone. The men and women in this room are among the most talented individuals I have ever had the pleasure of working with. We still can and _will_ win this bid. Thank you all for your time and continued dedication.”

Then with a final curt nod Lexa turns and steps away from the podium, Indra following close behind as they head for the door. She doesn’t react for long moments, Lexa’s rousing speech still echoing in her mind. It seems to have resonated with everyone else too seeing as no one has moved from their seats yet. Say what you will about Lexa’s strategies, but the woman has a unique way with words that other leaders can only dream of.

The urge to get up and follow Lexa is instinctive and she’s on autopilot as she gets to her feet. That same anger from earlier is creeping back again because as inspiring as that speech might have been, it means Lexa’s going to convince management to waste time and resources on an internal investigation they’ve already solved. Plus there’s no way in hell she’s letting Lexa take the flack for this.

“Clarke, where are you going?” Octavia calls after her. “Clarke?!”

She’s not listening as she stalks from the room, intent on giving Lexa her second ultimatum of the day. Either she’s allowed to come clean or she’ll walk. It’s a bit of an empty threat seeing as both scenarios are likely to end in her leaving Trikru but she has to try. The guilt is too much to handle.

She exits the room just in time to see Lexa and Indra disappearing around the end of the corridor. Presumably they’re heading to Lexa’s office for a conference call with corporate. If she’s fast enough she can stop-

“Fuck.”

The grip on her wrist is as firm as it is unexpected, causing her to stop abruptly. She wheels around, irritated and fully expecting Octavia to have followed her from the conference room. Instead she’s met with Anya’s trademark scowl which she immediately returns with one of her own.

“Let go of me,” Clarke hisses, trying to yank her hand away. “I don’t have time for this.”

Anya’s grip tightens. “You need to come with me.”

And oh, she is so not in the mood for Anya’s bullshit right now.

“Let go of me,” Clarke repeats through gritted teeth, stepping into Anya’s personal space. “Or I will cause such a fucking scene-”

“Shut up.” The dangerous edge to Anya’s voice is enough to make her do just that. “I have a message from Lexa.”

That certainly gets her attention. Anya releases her wrist and gives her a pointed look before wordlessly turning in the opposite direction. She rolls her eyes and follows, wondering if the older woman is ever anything other than ominous and dramatic. Probably not.

They wind up in one of the supply closets just off the main office. Were she not so pissed off, she might have made a quip along the lines of not being in the closet since she was 16. But this is not the time. She also pretty certain Anya doesn’t possess a sense of humour anyway.

“Lexa asked me to give this to you,” Anya says, holding out a folded piece of paper. The sourness of her tone does not go unnoticed. “She thought it pertinent.”

She takes the piece of paper and unfolds it, frowning down at a neatly written address in West Hollywood. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that it must be Lexa’s apartment. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Clarke asks.

“Do whatever the hell you want,” Anya tells her. “I don’t care.”

Clarke finds herself rolling her eyes without meaning to. “Yes, because caring would involve having genuine human emotions,” she retorts.

Anya gives her a hard stare and for a terrifying moment, she thinks the woman might actually strike her. Sassing someone as impatient as Anya in a place with no witnesses is perhaps not the best idea.

“You know I can see why she likes you,” Anya says, tilting her head to the side. “It’s not common to come across someone with as much conviction as you.”

 Clarke very near swallows her own tongue in shock. Was that a compliment...from _Anya_?

“Not that I can particularly see any _other_ appeal, of course.”

Oh. That’s more like it.

“Of course,” Clarke echoes dryly. “Is that everything? Am I free to leave now?”

Anya nods and gestures for her to open the door. Once she checks the coast is clear they both turn to go their separate ways

“Oh and Griffin?” Anya calls after her. She pauses, swearing under her breath. “Give her a chance to explain. You might be pissed off now but you know as well as I do that Lexa must have had a good reason to do what she did.”

Clarke looks over her shoulder, brow furrowed. “You really do blindly trust her don’t you?” she asks curiously. “Why?”

“She has never given me a reason not to,” Anya says without missing a beat. “Can’t you say the same?"

Anya holds her gaze for another few seconds before she disappears through the door to the stairwell, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She supposes it is true. Lexa has never given her a reason not to.

 

 

 

 //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

 

It’s almost 9pm before she psychs herself up enough to head over Lexa’s. Truth be told, she’s glad to be out of her own apartment. Ever since Raven had arrived home at six with a disgruntled looking Octavia in tow, tensions had been running high. Raven hadn’t mentioned the missing pass fiasco to her girlfriend (she suspects Raven is leaving that decision to her) but Octavia was still pissed that she had up and left after the announcement with no explanation.

After a fair amount of apologising on her part, Raven had then revealed that it had been a hell of an afternoon for those who had remained at the office. The start of the investigation had proved fruitless. Of course the office has CCTV but the cameras had been conveniently turned to face the ceiling, something no one had picked up on until they reviewed the tapes. They’d also been unable to find any digital trace thus far.

“I saw Lexa after her conference call with New York,” Raven had told her without being asked. Clarke will be forever grateful for her best friend’s intuition. “She seemed kind of frazzled actually.”

She must have looked worried then to have prompted Raven’s, “Well, frazzled for _her_ which in this instance means she just looked like she could use a strong coffee. I’m sure she’s doing fine, Griffin. She’s a fighter, that one.”

The words had done little to reassure her. And now, as she stands outside Lexa’s door, hand poised to knock, she feels dread coiling in the pit of her stomach. Earlier she had been so sure of herself. She was ready to disagree with Lexa, to argue and yell and vent all her frustrations. But now, with Anya’s words still fresh in her mind and Raven filling her in on the details of the day, she realises she had no idea of what to do.

Taking a deep breath, she knocks twice. She isn’t waiting long before she hears the click of the lock and the door opens to reveal Lexa standing on the other side.

She almost does a double take because Lexa looks markedly different from any other time she’s seen her. Gone are the tailored slacks and formal dresses, replaced by grey sweats and a plain white t-shirt. Lexa wears her hair down, loose waves cascading over one shoulder and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose completes the casual look. Lexa looks like a goddess even now. How can one person be so devastatingly beautiful without even trying?

“Hey,” Lexa greets, running a hand though her hair. She looks nervous.

“Hey yourself,” Clarke smiles, feeling some of her dread ebb away when Lexa returns the gesture with a small smile of her own.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come. I’m glad you did,” Lexa says. A beat passes. “Apologies for my appearance by the way,” she tacks on, gesturing down at herself, “it’s just been a long day so-”

“Stop it, you look great,” Clarke cuts her off. “Unfairly so. I’m sure the tight fitted semi-transparent  t-shirt wasn’t intentional at all,” she teases.

Lexa’s cheeks turn pink. “I-I didn’t. I mean it wasn’t-”

“I’m kidding,” Clarke reassures, grinning and shaking her head. “Now are you gonna invite me in or not? Because as much fun as I’m having making you blush in the hallway, I’m guessing you invited me over for a more serious conversation?”

Lexa mumbles something about not blushing but steps aside nonetheless to let her into the apartment. She follows Lexa into an open plan living room/kitchen area. Whilst it’s true she hadn’t thought about what Lexa’s apartment might look like in great detail, it’s exactly what she would have expected.

The overall effect is rather minimalist, everything sleek and shiny and in its place. She notes there are no photographs on display but she’s pleasantly taken-aback to see there’s plenty of artwork adorning the walls. That coupled with a geometric pastel accent rug and a few choice tripod lamps gives the living room a stylish yet personal touch. She shouldn’t be surprised in the slightest. Lexa has great taste in cars and clothes and everything else; her apartment was never going to be the exception.

“Would you like a drink?” Lexa asks, walking over to the refrigerator.

“Sure. What are you having?”

Lexa pulls out a bottle of white wine and holds it up in silent question. “I mean, I know it’s a Tuesday night but...” she trails off.

“You definitely deserve it,” Clarke nods. “And it would be rude of me to let you drink alone.”

“It would. Terribly rude,” Lexa agrees, nodding sagely. “Take a seat on the couch and I’ll bring you a glass over.”

So she does, taking the side of the couch nearest to the balcony door to look out at the neighbourhood below. It looks breathtaking with the sun hanging low in the sky, washing everything it touches in a warm orange glow. She startles a little when Lexa silently appears beside her and hands her the wine glass.

She takes a large gulp as Lexa sits down and does the same. The space between them on the couch is notable and larger than necessary. She supposes they’re not here for a repeat performance of earlier but there’s an air of awkwardness which she longs to fill with anything other than this stilted silence.

“Look Lexa, we need to talk about that stunt you pulled earlier,” Clarke begins, frowning as she sets her glass down. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t just let me-”

“Clarke, please,” Lexa sighs, placing a gentle hand on Clarke’s arm to stop her. “I know you must have a lot of questions about what I did today. And I _know_ you’re angry because it looked like I dismissed your help...but I promise you, it’ll all become clear if you just give me a chance to explain.”

She meets Lexa’s eyes and sees that same pleading look from before, the one that had given her pause in the conference room when she’d wanted to confess to the team. It’s raw and honest and despite her residual anger, it’s not a look she could ever say no to.

Clarke nods. “Ok. Tell me everything.”

 

 ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

“So you’re saying it had nothing to do with me at all?” Clarke blurts disbelievingly. “It was all a set up?”

“Yep. I’m almost certain,” Lexa says, pouring out more wine for both of them. “It’s a classic red herring. Which unfortunately means there’s at least one person at Trikru passing information to Azgeda.”

“Do you have any idea who?”

“Unfortunately not.”

Her teeth worry her lower lip as her mind races with all the possibilities of who it could be. It’s impossible It could be literally anyone save for a few obvious exceptions. And who’s to say that there’s only one traitor in their midst? Nia could have a whole host of spies within the company.

“Hang on a sec, that still doesn’t explain why you told everyone about their jobs being in danger,” Clarke says with a frown. “And why did you say there would be an investigation? You didn’t need to do that.”

“But I did,” Lexa counters, setting the bottle back down. “For two reasons. One, because people deserve to know now more than ever what’s at stake. And two, to try and draw Nia out.”

Clarke’s frown deepens. “How do you mean?”

“Well if I order an investigation it looks as though I’m clueless to the fact that she orchestrated this whole thing,” Lexa explains. “Whereas in reality we’re one step ahead. She doesn’t know that I know she’s got an inside man. And announcing that jobs are in jeopardy is like a worm on a hook to her. It makes my position look vulnerable which will make Nia sloppy. I’m banking on the possibility she’ll slip up and expose herself.”

“That’s a pretty big gamble,” Clarke muses.

Lexa shrugs. “I have to play the cards I’m dealt. This is a blow but Nia’s downfall has always been that she’s fuelled by her ego. She thinks herself more intelligent that she actually is. Trust me, if she thinks she has an advantage, she’ll  get cocky and make a mistake somewhere. And when she does I’ll nail her to the wall.”

Lexa’s strategy is good but it’s not without risks. Knowing who the spies were would make this easier.  She wracks her brain for an answer. Whoever it was must have had a pass with access to the fifth floor which means it pretty much has to be someone on the team or a member of senior management staff. No one else has unbridled access to every floor besides the security guard and-

“The cleaner!” Clarke exclaims.

Lexa jumps and very nearly kicks over the coffee table. “What?”

Clarke grasps Lexa’s hands. “Don’t you see? It must have been the cleaner,” she says excitedly. “I lost my pass on Friday, right?”

 Lexa frowns but nods.

 “Well that evening I had fallen asleep at my desk and I could have sworn I had my pass with me,” Clarke explains. “I remember wondering why the cleaner’s vacuuming didn’t wake me up before you did. He must have seen his opportunity and stolen my pass from my desk while I was sleeping. That’s how Nia was able to frame me!”

Lexa blinks slowly at her and Clarke can practically see the cogs turning in her mind as she tries to find any sort of flaw in the theory. The smile that slowly spreads across Lexa’s face tells her she’s found none. They may not have all the answers yet but this is definitely a step in the right direction.

“You, Clarke Griffin, are fucking brilliant,” Lexa declares.

Without warning, Lexa cups her cheeks and captures her lips in an enthusiastic kiss. She stiffens in surprise for a second before she finds herself kissing back, one hand coming to rest on the back of Lexa’s neck as she holds her in place. She allows herself to relax into the kiss, enjoying the languid slide of Lexa’s lips against her own before Lexa abruptly pulls away.

“Sorry,” Lexa mumbles, blushing profusely as her eyes flit to the floor. “I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

And oh, shy, nervous Lexa may just be the most endearing sight she’s ever seen. How is _this_ same person that mere hours ago had her pinned to the desk, writing in ecstasy as she experienced one of the most intense orgasms of her life?

“Lexa, we quite literally fucked on your desk,” Clarke deadpans. The very tips of Lexa’s ears turn red. “I don’t think kissing constitutes getting carried away, do you?”

Lexa smiles, biting on her lower lip as she shakes her head. “I guess not.” A beat passes. “Do you uh, would you like to talk about that?”

“You mean the mind-blowing sex?” Clarke grins mischievously.

Lexa swallows hard and nods.

“Sure, we can talk about it,” Clarke breezes, reaching up to remove Lexa’s glasses. She sets them down on the coffee table. “But I think repeating the experience might be a better idea, don’t you?”

She’s glad when Lexa doesn’t bother to respond verbally and instead surges forward to crash their lips together in a passionate kiss. Lexa’s right, they _do_ need to talk about this but not right now. Its been a hell of a day and Lexa more than anyone deserves to just switch off, take a break and relieve some of the tension that she surely feels. Fortunately she’s more than eager to provide that relief– Lexa’s been on her mind all damn day and she cannot wait to repay the favour.

Without breaking the kiss she crawls into Lexa’s lap and straddles her thighs, nails scratching lightly at the base of her neck. She licks into Lexa’s mouth and their tongues slide together with a familiarity she knows she’ll never grow tired of. Sighing with relief, she weaves her hands into Lexa’s hair and then sucks on her lower lip, teeth grazing gently before releasing it with a faint wet pop.

Touches become bolder and less cautious with each passing second as they allow themselves the freedom to explore each other. And really, this is what she’s wanted all along; just the two of them alone together, no distractions, no interruptions, and all responsibility temporarily forgotten. That’s not to say they’re taking things slow by any means. If anything their kisses turn more heated –an underlying sense of urgency punctuated by a deliciously messy clash of tongues and teeth.

 Lexa’s hands slide from her lower back to rest on her ass, fingernails digging into the skin a little as she pulls her impossibly closer. In that moment Clarke’s grateful she decided to wear jeans this evening because if she’d opted for a skirt as originally planned, then Lexa would _definitely_ be able to feel just how wet she is right now. Honestly, it’s a little embarrassing when all they’ve done is kiss but with Lexa pressed against her, craving this just as much as she does, she can’t find it within herself to care.

 She breaks the kiss only to relieve the burning sensation of her lungs as they cry out for air. Breathing shallow, she rests her forehead against Lexa's as they both take a moment to catch their breath, fingers languidly playing with the baby hairs at the nape of Lexa’s neck. With a lazy smile she pulls back a little further and the confused look that Lexa throws her is answered with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips. She watches with satisfaction as it has the desired effect; Lexa’s jaw hangs slack, head thrown back in pleasure as she releases a strangled moan that sends a shudder down Clarke’s spine.  

“Fuck, Clarke,” Lexa rasps when she repeats the motion a second time.

“Well yes,” Clarke muses, leaning forward to kiss a trail of open mouthed kisses from Lexa’s jawline to her neck. “That would be the general idea.”

She prides herself on the way Lexa’s huff of frustration turns into a high-pitched whine when she gently bites down on the brunette’s pulse point and then soothes the area with her tongue, eagerly lapping at the skin. And really, she would love to take her time, but if Lexa keeps making noises like _that_ then this isn’t going to last long at all. Her already soaked underwear is a testament to that and she’s willing to bet her entire pay check that Lexa is in a similar state. What they need is to move things along.

“Can I take you to bed?” Clarke husks into Lexa’s ear.

Lexa’s response is a strangled whimper as Clarke licks the shell of her ear in a way that has her shuddering.

“Is that a yes?” Clarke teases, rocking her hips again. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” Lexa practically growls.

It’s a bit of a blur after that. One second Lexa’s roughly pushing her off her lap and the next she’s taking her hand and dragging her in the direction of the bedroom. As soon as the door closes, Lexa’s got her pinned against it, kissing her deeply in a way that’s wildly reminiscent of the night of the fundraiser. A firm thigh finds its way between her own she can’t help but grind down, unable to stop the moan that falls from lips.

When she feels Lexa’s smug smile against her neck she comes back to her senses. Tonight isn’t about her - she’d been somewhat placated with a particularly intense orgasm this morning. Finally having Lexa touch her the way she’d been craving _and_ living out the office sex fantasy she’s been imagining for weeks? It had been close to perfect even despite the heated argument they’d had before hand. Who knows, maybe that was part of the appeal? Either way, she wouldn’t mind repeating that scenario again and again to find out. Practice makes perfect after all.

But tonight is about Lexa. God knows Lexa deserves this and she won’t be satisfied until Lexa is totally spent and boneless beneath her, exhausted in the best possible way. Gripping Lexa’s shoulders, she pushes forward to regain control, connecting their mouths in a bruising kiss as she walks them backwards towards the bed. Her fingertips find the hem of Lexa’s t-shirt and she tugs impatiently until the brunette gets the message and briefly breaks the kiss to rid herself of the garment.

When Lexa leans in to kiss her, Clarke shakes her head. “Off,” she orders, pointedly snapping the waistband of Lexa’s sweatpants.

It feels like a bold move, especially after the way Lexa had seemed to relish being in control this morning. So the speed at which Lexa complies, tugging her sweatpants down and then kicking them off the rest of the way to join the growing pile of clothes at the foot of the bed, is mildly unanticipated.

However it comes as no surprise that Lexa’s in incredible shape, slender yet toned. She allows herself a selfish moment to take in the sight of Lexa in nothing more than her underwear, gaze lingering on clearly defined abs she’s so enjoyed raking her fingers over before now. Her eyes snap back up to Lexa’s and her breath catches in her throat at what she sees. Lexa’s pupils are completely blown with desire, lips slightly parted as she looks at her with a hunger that makes her all too aware of the throbbing between her thighs.

Wasting no more time she gives Lexa a forceful push that sends the brunette sprawling onto the mattress, a fleeting look of unprecedented shock crossing her features. She maintains eye contact as she hurriedly unbuttons her own shirt, and then pops the button on her jeans, sliding them down them down her legs as quickly as grace with allow. Lexa, for her part, is watching her slack-jawed as though in a trance. It’s completely encouraging.

 Eyes still locked with Lexa’s, she reaches behind her back and she undoes the clasp of her bra before shrugging it off completely. The awed gasp that falls from Lexa’s mouth makes her blush in a way that she’s grateful for the limited light in the room. She motions for Lexa to scoot up and then slowly crawls on top of her, thighs planted firmly on either side of Lexa’s hips.

When Lexa sits up and pulls her in for a kiss its deep and wanting, tongue deftly exploring as her hands splay across Clarke’s back. She uses the opportunity to reach and around and unhook Lexa’s bra, pulling back to rid her of the offending garment before leaning in to connect their mouths once again. She moans loudly when Lexa slides her hands up to palm her breasts, nipples already hard as she arches shamelessly into Lexa’s touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lexa murmurs as she kisses down the column of her throat. “So fucking beautiful.”

And there’s something about hearing Lexa swear in this capacity that drives her wild. With renewed desire she cradles Lexa’s face between her hands and kisses her slow and deep, tongue flicking across the roof of her mouth. She flattens her palms against Lexa’s shoulders and applies a gentle pressure until her back hits the mattress.

She shifts her weight, sitting back on her heels and taking a moment to marvel at the sight beneath her. Lexa is beautiful. The word might be overused but there’s really no other way to describe how she looks right now. Breathtaking maybe, with her hair fanned out over the pillow, chest heaving as she breathes shallowly and a light sheen of sweat covering her body courtesy of the sticky August heat.

Deciding that she’s been staring long enough, Lexa pulls her in, capturing kiss swollen lips with her own. She swallows the tiny sounds that Lexa makes as her hands slide over taut abs, enjoying the way the muscles move beneath her touch. Her hands wander up over Lexa’s chest, cupping small but perfectly shaped breasts, dusky pink nipples hardening under her touch. Lexa releases a breathy moan that she eagerly swallows, the sound sending a jolt of pleasure straight between her legs.

She leans, nose brushing the underside of Lexa’s jaw as she marks a trail of insistent kisses down her neck, pausing to nibble lightly at her collar bone. Her tongue flicks over a sensitive bud before her mouth closes over it, tongue swirling as she sucks so determinedly her cheeks hollow.

Lexa’s hands fly to her hair as she holds her in place, back arching at the sensation. She lavishes the same attention of the other breast, hands greedily palming and squeezing the sensitive skin. She revels in the sound of Lexa’s moans rising into the air, quiet and breathy with an almost rumbling quality as they’re pulled from deep within her chest. She thinks she could do this all night – marvelling at Lexa’s reactions as she slowly explores her body inch by inch.

It’s when she decides to test the water by gently pressing her thigh against Lexa’s centre that atmosphere changes. Lexa jerks, a string of swear words falling from her mouth as she grips at Clarke’s hips, desperately shifting to find a better angle as she grinds down repeatedly.  And fuck, if her underwear wasn’t already drenched, the sight of that alone would be enough.

“Clarke,” Lexa pants, breathless as she bucks her hips involuntarily.

She gets the message, leaning up to crash their lips together as her hand slides south, pausing when she reaches the waistband of Lexa’s boyshorts. There’s something about seeing Lexa, usually so controlled and calculated, now needy and writhing beneath her that’s incredibly satisfying. Her whole body shivers when she reaches down to cup Lexa through her underwear and finds the fabric practically soaked through.

When she presses more firmly, Lexa keens, nails digging into Clarke’s shoulders so hard she leaves temporary half moons in the skin. She doesn’t register the pain at all, too absorbed in the little gasps and whimpers her touch elicits from Lexa. She finds herself totally transfixed by the way Lexa’s jaw hangs slack and her eyes screw closed in concentration as her hips seek out more friction. It’s so fucking hot she wonders if she could come from the sight alone.

 “Clarke,” Lexa chokes out, grasping her wrist. Clarke stills her movements and meets her eyes. “Please.”

And although she might want to draw this out, although she might want to spend hours getting to know all the little secrets and quirks of Lexa’s body, that’s not what Lexa _needs_ right now. She can understand that. She can definitely relate. Besides, she gets the unmistakable feeling they’ll be doing this again before long. Next time she’ll make Lexa be patient but not tonight.

 Without any further preamble she flattens her palm against Lexa’s stomach and slides it beneath the band of her underwear. She’s powerless to oppress the awed gasp that escapes her throat when her fingers find slick heat. Lexa’s right there with her, head slamming into the pillow and releasing a moan that borders on obscene.

She works slowly in her exploration, fingers gathering wetness as she traces the length of Lexa’s slit and parts her folds. Lexa’s eyes roll back as she stars drawing lazy circles around her clit, wide at first and then tighter, carefully avoiding the sensitive bundle of nerves so not to over stimulate her too quickly. She moves lower, fingertips dipping teasingly into Lexa’s entrance but never quite committing to it.

And although this is fucking phenomenal, it’s still not enough. Not when she finds her movements restricted by Lexa’s boyshorts. She needs to see Lexa as well as touch her. She wants to immerse herself completely in this feeling and she wants Lexa right there with her.

There’s a scandalised whine of protest when she withdraws. When she glances up, Lexa’s expression is the very embodiment of the phrase, “what the fuck” as she’s fixed with a look halfway between longing and frustrated.

“Shh,” Clarke sooths, sweeping back the damp hair from Lexa’s forehead. “I’m not going anywhere. I just wanna make you feel as good as you made me, ok?” she explains, cupping Lexa’s cheek.

Lexa nods fervently.

She smiles and placates her with a reassuring kiss on the lips before working her way back down Lexa’s lithe body. Her hands grip the edges of underwear and Lexa gets the message, lifting her hips off the bed so Clarke can slowly peel them off. Once they’re gone she gently nudges Lexa’s knees apart, sits back on her heels and just stares for a moment.

It transpires that every inch of Lexa is exquisiute, not that she ever expected anything to the contrary. But imagining it and actually seeing Lexa spread out and open for her, glistening and wet and inviting, are two very different things. Her mouth, in contrast, goes dry and she swallows hard, tongue sweeping across her lips in anticipation.

“Clarke.”

Lexa’s voice is unsteady as she shifts her thighs, bringing her attention back up to emerald green orbs. Even in the low light of the room she can deduce that Lexa looks uncomfortable, perhaps bordering on embarrassed under her intense gaze.

And oh, that is fucking criminal. She’s not stupid; she knows everyone has hang-ups about their body but for Lexa to feel insecure in this moment? Unacceptable.  She simply won’t be satisfied until Lexa knows just how special she is.

Clarke moves to hover over her once more, lips ghosting over her neck. “Lexa, you’re so beautiful,” she whispers, kissing the spot just below her ear. Lexa trembles. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

Lexa pulls her in for a kiss so passionate that her mind goes blank, completely lost in the feeling of Lexa’s lips moving determinedly against her own. And this feeling, she thinks, this feeling is dangerous. It’s addictive. The way she feels in this moment she’d give Lexa anything.

They haven’t talked about it but Clarke’s guessing it’s been a while since Lexa was intimate with anyone. Its probably the first time anyone’s touched her like this since Costia which is all the more reason to make this an unforgettable night. She’s not nervous. She’s not shy about sex, never has been. She knows what she wants and she’s pretty well versed in reading people’s bodies when it comes to matters of a sexual nature.

Pulling back, she begins her descent down Lexa’s body leaving determined kisses in her wake. Her tongue dips into Lexa’s navel and her teeth rake gently over prominent hip bones as she travels lower still. The scent of Lexa’s arousal hits her, heady and intoxicating in close proximity, her mouth watering as she drinks it in. The involuntary buck of Lexa’s hips as she sucks open mouthed kisses along her inner thigh tells her that ever fibre in Lexa’s body is screaming for release. And well, who is Clarke to deny her that?

Propping herself up on her elbows, she lowers herself until her stomach is flat against the mattress. With a reassuring squeeze to Lexa’s hip, she pauses just above her mound for a prolonged second before leaning in to give her cunt one slow, deliberate lick

Lexa’s hips buck furiously. “Fuck!”

“Relax” Clarke murmurs, hooking her arms under Lexa’s thighs to keep her grounded. “I’ve got you.”

She doesn’t tease Lexa at all as she licks deftly through her folds, steady and gentle in her exploration. Lexa tastes absolutely divine, tangy and sharp in the best kind of way. She circles Lexa’s clit before flattening her tongue and lapping at the sensitive bud, noticing Lexa’s moans have long since lost that breathy quality as they turn into full-on whines with each stroke. When she draws her clit into her mouth and applies the faintest pressure, she’s rewarded with a gush of wetness coating her chin. 

She’s highly attuned into Lexa’s body as she licks her way through her, listening out for those little noises Lexa makes when she likes something or when she doesn’t. This is something that has always amazed her about sleeping with women; the fact that there’s a whole universe waiting to be explored within the space of a few inches.

When Lexa’s hands fly to fist tightly in the sheets, she can tell she’s close. She can hear it in the way Lexa’s breathing changes and she can feel it in the way her body begins to tremble. She increases her pace, lapping relentlessly at Lexa’s clit as her grip on the brunette’s now bucking thighs tightens.

 Lexa grabs frantically for her left hand and she laces their fingers together the best she can without breaking her rhythm.

“I need you inside,” Lexa pants, straining to look at her. “Please.”

She doesn’t slow her movements as she slides her free hand up Lexa’s thigh, fingers poised at her entrance. The roll of Lexa’s hips has her sinking two fingers inside and _god_ , she genuinely cannot tell who groans louder. Lexa’s slick velvety walls seem to suck at her fingers, making her all too aware of the almost painful throbbing between her own legs. She finds herself grinding down onto Lexa’s thigh in a bid to relieve some of the building tension in the pit of her stomach.

It doesn’t take long once she sets her pace, thrusting into Lexa hard and curling her fingers expertly before pulling out again. Its when she adds a third digit and strokes that spot just right, lips wrapped firmly around Lexa’s clit, that Lexa comes undone. Her whole body goes completely rigid for a few seconds before her back arches off the bed. Clarke watches on in silent amazement as Lexa careens over the edge, the tendons of her neck straining as comes with a sharp cry, mouth forming a perfect o-shape.

She slows down her pace, helping Lexa through the final tremors of her orgasm before gently withdrawing. As Lexa struggles to catch her breath she cleans her up with slow soft licks, savouring as much of Lexa’s unique taste as she possibly can.

A squeeze to her hand gives her pause and she looks up from beneath her lashes. She didn’t think it was possible but Lexa looks even more radiant now, eyes half lidded and brow sweaty as she looks down at her, completely blissed out.

Clarke rests her cheek on Lexa’s thigh, her own breathing still laboured. “Too much?”

Lexa manages a nod.

Clarke grins and presses a kiss to her thigh before she crawls back up to lie next to her. She pushes the hair back from Lexa’s forehead and lets her palm rest on her neck, looking into her eyes.

“You ok?”

Lexa nods again. “Yeah,” her voice is a little strained. “I’d venture as far to say better than ok, even.”

 “Well you look exhausted,” Clarke counters cheekily. “Guess someone wore you out.”

Lexa’s lazy smile and the exaggerated role of her eyes has her turning and grinning into the pillow. When Lexa starts absent-mindedly tracing patterns into the skin of her back, she realises she can’t remember when she felt so comfortable and at ease with someone after sex. Maybe never. But Lexa is special and lying here next to her as they both come down from their respective highs is as close to feeling truly content as she’s ever been.

“What are you thinking about?” Lexa asks quietly.

 “You,” Clarke says without missing a beat.

Lexa stops her ministrations and Clarke curses herself internally. She’s glad that Lexa can’t see her face when it’s buried in the pillow because she’s sure it’s an impressive shade of red. Yes, they like each other. Yes, they’ve had sex but they still haven’t really talked about what _this_ means. It’s not fair to make Lexa discuss it now when she should be relaxing.  Slowly, she turns her head to face Lexa.

“Clarke, I...” Lexa falters, swallowing hard. “Look I need you to know that this...us...it’s-”

“Turn around,” Clark instructs. Lexa frowns in confusion. “Turn around,” she repeats, smiling softly. “Do it.”

Lexa stares at her for another long moment before she complies. As soon as Lexa faces away from her, she slips her hands around her middle and scoots closer, her front firmly pressed into Lexa’s back.

 “You’re making me into the little spoon?!” Lexa accuses, trying to turn around.

“Front spoon,” Clarke corrects, yawning. “Now stop squirming and let me hold you.”

“I am never the front spoon,” Lexa grumbles. Clarke smiles against her neck. “And stop smirking.”

She doesn’t offer any answer other than a soft shush as she smiles sleepily, feeling Lexa relax into her embrace. It’s in that tranquil moment when she’s halfway between awake and asleep that she realises it.

 She’s in love with Lexa and likely has been for a while. Its why she was so angry with her after the events of the fundraiser, she just didn't realise it until now. The thought doesn’t startle her as it’s not so much a revelation as a moment of clarity. Its just another fact. The sky is blue, the grass is green and she’s completely in love with Alexandria Woods. It seems fast, but how can you put a measure or timescale on how quickly you should develop feelings for a person? 

Now is decidedly not the right time to reveal this information. She doesn’t know what the rules are given they’ve been intimate a grand total of twice. Does fucking on company property count as being intimate? It counts as _something._ They’ve crossed a line and she has no intention of looking back. Hopefully Lexa doesn’t either.

It’s also in these rare moments when she’s blissfully satisfied and verging on sleep that all great ideas hit her. Tonight is apparently no exception as a possible solution to their biggest problem hits her like a train. She abandons wondering what issues being in love with Lexa may or may not bring as a brilliant yet ridiculous idea forms in her mind. 

“You have to fire me.”

“This is strange pillow talk,” Lexa mumbles, turning around to face her. “What are you talking about?”

“You have to fire me,” Clarke repeats, sitting up. “I’m serious. Fire me publicly. You tell everyone I caused the breach and Nia believes her plan worked. I leave seemingly hating you and she approaches me to try and get me to turn against Trikru.”

Lexa sits up with a frown. “That is a crazy idea,” she deadpans. “There’s no guarantee that-”

“Hear me out,” Clarke dismisses. “When you fire me, make it personal. Everyone knows we had a strained beginning and it’ll be the talk of the company. Word will get back to Nia via her spies and she won’t be able to resist an opportunity to bring you down. You said it yourself, she’s fuelled by her ego and she’ll want to hurt you in the most personal way. This could be our chance to expose her for what she really is!”

Lexa looks at her like she’s gone completely insane and says nothing for long moments.

“This is risky, Clarke. We don’t know if Nia will take the bait and if she does, you getting involved with her is a dangerous move. She’s not the sort of woman you want to cross.”

“But?” Clarke coaxes.

Lexa sighs. “But if she tried to bribe or blackmail you into providing information on Trikru and we had hard evidence, her career would be ruined. Justifiably so.”

“So we’re doing it?” Clarke confirms.

Lexa’s teeth worry her lower lip. “I’ll consider it. But if we do this it’s going to have to be sooner rather than later. Are you sure you’re ready to lose your job?” she adds with a hint of amusement.

“Sure. Well, I mean you’re gonna have to give everyone an answer to your bogus investigation, including Gustus.”

“Yes. He was not...pleased when I spoke to him earlier. In fact he threatened to fly in at the end of the week if I couldn’t provide any answers.”

“Well there you go, two birds with one stone,” Clarke breezes. “Fire me to get everyone off your case and add the possibility of exposing your nemesis for the devious snake she truly is. Everyone wins...in theory.”

“Except you,” Lexa points out. “What do you get out of this?”

“I get to help my friends win _and_ bring down a corporate villain at the same time. What _don’t_ I get?” Clarke grins. “Plus I don’t really like me job. My boss is a total hardass.”

Lexa rolls her eyes and then leans in to press a sweet kiss to her lips. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow, ok? We should both get some rest.”

Clarke nods and then sinks back down into the bed, not bothering to protest when Lexa switches their positions and toned arms wrap around her torso.

“Lexa?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re gonna reinstate me after this is all over, right?”

“Only if you promise not to make me the front spoon again.”

She drifts off with a smile on her face, Lexa watching over her as sleep evades her until the early hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)  
> Please let me know if you're enjoying the story - I love hearing your thoughts.  
> HMU on tumblr at toolateintheday  
> Until next time!


	17. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mixed POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your kudos and comments - I love reading everyone thoughts and ideas.  
> Tbh I am blown away By how many people are still with me on this.  
> Anyway, mixed POV as we haven't had one in a while.  
> Mostly Clarke with some Lexa.  
> Enjoy!

Clarke POV

 

For the second day in a row she wakes up before the sun has had the chance to rise. Yesterday she’d woken abruptly thanks to fitful dreams, her anger and frustration at Lexa’s evasiveness seeping into her subconscious. Today holds the promise of a more peaceful morning as she blinks slowly, her eyes adjusting to the darkened room. Though Lexa still remains the cause of her early start, this time its for a decidedly more pleasant reason.

Behind her Lexa stirs, murmuring lightly but still fast asleep. She smiles to herself when the arms around her middle tighten instinctively as Lexa subconsciously pulls her closer. She sinks back into the embrace, relaxed though her heart beats furiously in stark contrast to Lexa’s peaceful rhythmic breathing.

Of course a racing pulse is to be expected in a situation such as this and not just because there’s a ridiculously attractive (and not to mention completely naked) woman holding her close. It’s because this is Lexa. Lexa, who until very recently, had been resolutely closed off to the notion of acknowledging any romantic desire. Lexa who excelled at putting up walls and insisted on distancing herself even after they’d admitted their attraction to each other. Lexa, who tried to convince herself and Clarke repeatedly that it was a terrible idea to act on their feelings.

She can scarcely believe that this same woman is holding her tenderly having seemingly opened herself up to the possibility of something more between them. Because there’s no doubt in her mind that this isn't just about sex. At least it definitely isn’t on her part. And from the way Lexa reacted to her impassioned ultimatum yesterday morning– daring her to admit she feels something – she’d wager Lexa isn’t in this purely for the physical perks.

Though that’s not to say there isn’t still a large degree of uncertainty. They’ve yet to define what _this_ is and what _they_ are. And whilst there’s no rush, she’s painfully aware of just how into Lexa she is.

Loving Lexa isn’t the scary part – that’s easy. People fall in love all the time and it’s effortless. It’s the talking about it; the complicated conversations as they navigate their feelings and ultimately, a fear of rejection that frightens her. The saving grace is that her muddled emotional state isn’t the most pressing issue at present.  

They still need to form a solid plan to simultaneously save the LA office and bring Nia to her knees. The idea her brain had conjured up late last night was good but it’s not without its flaws and substantial risks. If they collaborate further then they’re bound to come up with something spectacular. With Lexa’s natural aptitude for strategy and her own cunning rebellious streak, they cannot fail.

The soft lips that press against the nape of her neck are unexpected but far from unwelcome. She lets out a faint moan of appreciation and smiles to herself as Lexa’s nose brushes the shell of her ear. As wrapped up in her own thoughts as she was, she hadn’t noticed Lexa stirring.

“Well this is one of the more pleasant ways to wake up,” Clarke murmurs, her voice a little gravelly as it always is first thing. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Lexa echoes, humming contentedly as she presses her lips just to the left of the original spot.

She elongates her neck to simultaneously give Lexa better access and a silent sign of encouragement. Lexa, it turns out, is excellent on picking up on non-verbal cues, her kisses a dizzying combination of slow and sensual as she continues her exploration of Clarke’s neck.

“Though I’m not strictly sure we can call this morning if the sun isn’t even up yet,” Clarke muses, eyes sliding closed when soft lips press against her pulse point. “It’s far too early.”

Lexa hums again in response. “Did you sleep well?”

She smirks to herself, ready to give Lexa some sarcastic response about the other woman’s non-existent snoring. That’s until one of the hands wrapped around her middle moves to trace feather light patterns onto the skin of her stomach. And fuck if that’s not distracting.

 “Y-yeah,I did actually,” Clarke stammers, breath hitching as the fingertips of Lexa’s other hand graze her collarbone. She swallows hard.

“Yeah?” Lexa presses.

 If she somehow misses the smug edge to Lexa’s voice then she can definitely feel it in the smirk against her neck. She silently concedes that Lexa has a right to be smug – the woman has barely touched her and already she’s ridiculously turned on. The arousal pooling at the apex of her thighs is damning evidence of that.

 “Yeah. Or at least I did until _someone_ woke me up,” Clarke says, hoping the playful comment will distract from her breathlessness.

It doesn’t.

Lexa scoffs. “Oh please, you were awake before I was.” A beat passes. “Though if you’d rather go back to sleep for I while,” she teases, slowly retracting the hand that had been caressing Clarke’s stomach, “I could just...”

_Don’t you fucking dare!_

“No!” Clarke exclaims. She cringes when it comes out louder than intended and cringes again when she realises she’s seized Lexa’s wrist to hold her in place. “I mean, I’m wide awake now. Plus we should probably start working on the plan to bring Nia down-”

“I thought I was supposed to be the work-obsessed one?” Lexa chuckles throatily.

Clarke laughs too, then stops abruptly when Lexa’s other hand trails south of her collar bone to cover one of her breasts. Her breathing hitches when Lexa gently kneads the skin with her palm, nipple pebbling under her soft yet determined touch. Lexa’s hum of satisfaction vibrates in her chest as she arches into the touch, a small sigh falling from her lips.

 “Sorry, it’s just on my mind.”

She shudders when Lexa kisses her neck once again, the press of her lips a little harder than before – its hungrier and laced with intent. And really, with her knowledge of Lexa’s gym-focused morning routine and ‘get up and go’ attitude, it should come as no surprise that the brunette is into morning sex. She’s never been much of a fan herself. But this could be a turning point because Lexa’s hands, setting a blazing trail across her skin wherever they touch, are making for a very compelling case.

“Can we talk about something else,” Lexa whispers, hand squeezing Clarke’s hip as it travels lower still. “I just want to pretend that none of it exists for a few more minutes.”

And oh, the subtle longing in Lexa’s voice pulls at something deep within her chest. She opens her mouth to respond but loses her train of thought when Lexa’s lips meet her jawline and she sucks gently. Lexa maps a line of open mouthed kisses along the edge of her jaw and honestly, it kind of feels like her brain is short circuiting. When Lexa’s lips brush the corner of her mouth, she pauses, clearly waiting for Clarke to take the plunge and close that final inch of space between them.

 Clarke swallows hard and turns a fraction to stare deep into emerald orbs. “We don’t have to talk at all.”

The implication is obvious though how she managed to sound quite so cocky when she’s literally trembling, she’ll never know. Lexa barely has time to grin before Clarke pulls her down to capture those irresistibly soft lips with her own. She moans into Lexa’s mouth, not bothering to mask the delight she feels to be kissing her again. That’s because the slide of Lexa’s lips against her own creates feeling unlike any other; there’s the instant gratification and of course the excitement, but then there’s also a sense of calming relief.

Maybe that’s just what it feels like to kiss someone you’re in love with? It’s not a feeling she’s familiar with, _but god,_ she could get used to it.

Her mind blanks when Lexa licks into her mouth at the same time she cups her centre. She opens her legs wider on instinct, gasping when Lexa takes full advantage and dips lower into slick heat, skilled fingers gathering wetness before moving back up to circle her clit. She throws her head back into the pillow with a deep groan, hips bucking of their own accord as they greedily search out more contact. That’s when Lexa makes the nonsensical decision to withdraw her hand.

Clarke’s whine of protest is met with a grin. It only adds to her frustration. 

“I’m not stopping,” Lexa tells her softly, pressing a quick kiss to Clarke’s lips. “Not if you don’t want me to. I just wanted to make sure this was ok.”

And oh, it’s impossible to feel frustrated when Lexa is so damn sweet and considerate.

“It’s a lot more than ok,” Clarke reassures, biting her lower lip. “I want you to,” she says, letting the words hang between them for a beat. “I want you.”

Her stomach flutters when a fleeting expression she can’t place crosses Lexa’s features. It’s gone as quickly as it had arrived and Lexa is leaning again, kissing her quickly on the lips before turning her attention to her neck.

She closes her eyes and hisses slightly when Lexa’s teeth graze her collar bone, nipping the skin before soothing it with her tongue. Lexa’s going to leave a few marks but she doesn’t mind in the slightest – it’s not as if anyone else is going to see. Plus there’s something oddly thrilling about the idea of Lexa marking her as she maps her body with her with her lips and tongue. Anything that serves of a residual reminder of these moments spent together in the solitude of Lexa’s room can only be considered positive.

Lips ghost over her hip bones and she lets out a small gasp of surprise when smooth hands slide under the back of her knees, drawing them up and pushing them apart. She’s trembling by the time Lexa lowers herself between her thighs and manoeuvres her legs so they’re resting over her shoulders. She feels completely exposed but not uncomfortable, the anticipation building to an almost unbearable level as Lexa kisses up the inside of her thigh.

Lexa’s tongue is like liquid heat when it finally makes contact with her centre and she cries out, unable to stop herself. She screws her eyes shut and bites on her lip in an effort to silence herself as Lexa takes her time, deftly licking through her folds with feather-light precision from the outside in. And oh, if she thought Lexa was talented with her fingers then what she’s doing with her mouth is fucking otherworldly.

Lexa hums appreciatively. “You taste so fucking good,” she murmurs against her.

Clarke groans and it’s in that moment when she makes the mistake (or perhaps genius move) of opening her eyes. Green eyes, unparalleled in their intensity, lock with her own as Lexa slowly licks up the length of her, tongue flicking over her clit.

“Fuck.”

The moan that rips from her throat is almost primal as she clenches around nothing, hands fisting in the sheets as Lexa’s mouth forms a seal around her clit, tongue lapping repeatedly. Nothing has ever felt quite this good and the fact that Lexa genuinely seems to be enjoying herself, making those small little noises as she explores the most intimate part of her, only heightens the experience.

She’s loud. She knows she’s being loud; there have been enough snide comments from Raven regarding past conquests to last a lifetime. In the past she’s tried to hold back but this time there’s no caution, moan after moan falling from her lips as Lexa continues working her up in the most delicious way. She doesn’t _want_ to hold back this time, not when her shamelessly vocal pleasure seems to encourage Lexa more.

She can feel that she’s close now, hips jerking uncontrollably as the familiar band of tension builds low in her stomach. In a wholly unexpected move, Lexa’s hands slide to grab her ass, roughly pulling her closer as she pushes her tongue inside of her. Suddenly she’s seeing stars dancing behind her eyelids.

In that moment any remaining resolve she has crumbles, hands flying into Lexa’s hair to hold her in place as she bucks against her. Lexa’s pace is steady as she thrusts into her again and again, tongue coated in a fresh flood of arousal as she pusher deeper each time.

“Oh God. Lexa. I’m gonna-”

She doesn’t need to finish her sentence. Lexa withdraws, tongue swirling around her clit before she sucks the sensitive bud into her mouth and hums. Her body seizes and she’s rigid, suspended for for a few glorious seconds before the band finally snaps, orgasm crashing over her in waves. She comes, Lexa’s name falling from her lips like a prayer as she clit pulses beneath the brunette’s tongue.

She collapses back into the mattress, pleasantly dazed and chest heaving as she tries to get her breathing under control. When the last of the tremors subside she opens her eyes to see Lexa looking up at her from where her head rests against her thigh. And this, _this_ might be her favourite version of Lexa; brow slightly sweaty, mouth shiny with moisture and swollen lips quirked into a small smile as she stares back at her. The sight is enough to make her heart skip a beat. 

Summoning all the strength she has, she reaches down to pull Lexa in for a deep kiss, revelling in the comfortable weight of Lexa’s body on top of her. When she tastes herself on Lexa’s tongue she moans lightly, causing the brunette to smile into the kiss, teeth playfully nipping her lower lip as she pulls back.

“Are you ok?” Lexa asks, eyes silently searching her face. “That was pretty...”

“Intense?” Clarke supplies, grinning lopsidedly when Lexa blushes. Its adorable, really. “I’m great. Tired but great. Though I thought the idea was to wake me up, not wear me out,” she teases.

“The second one is far more fun,” Lexa counters. She’s not wrong.

Lexa moves to lie next to her, head propped on her elbow as she gently caresses Clarke’s cheek before running her fingers through her hair. Clarke slides her eyes closed and throws her arm around Lexa’s waist, pulling her closer still. She rests her head on Lexa’s chest, listening to the quiet thrum of the other woman’s heart beat. It’s racing in time with her own.

 As relaxing as this is, lying here in the post-orgasmic afterglow, she has other ideas for the pair of them. Sinful ideas that happen to involve her hands and Lexa’s body, fuelled by a newfound appreciation for morning sex. She’ll allow herself another minute of rest before she puts those ideas into practice – Lexa has well and truly done a number on her, not that she’s complaining.

Unfortunately though, reality sometimes has an inconvenient way of fucking up your plans.

“We should probably get up,” Lexa sighs, scowling at her alarm clock.

“Do we have to?” Clarke grumbles. Pouting in Lexa’s direction. “It’s still early. And besides, I can think of at least 10 things we could do right now that are infinitely more fun than getting up.”

“As many as ten?”

“Uh huh.”

Her hand brushes Lexa’s thigh more than a little suggestively and Lexa blushes again, groaning as she rolls onto her back to stare up at the ceiling.

“Believe me when I say there’s nothing I want more,” Lexa tells her. Clarke believes her. “But we don’t have the time. It’s past six already and I need to get to the office for eight to prepare. ”

Clarke lifts her head to peer at the clock and damn, Lexa’s right. Have they really been going at it for the better part of an hour? Apparently so. 

“It’s going to be a complete bitch of a day,” Lexa sighs.

Clarke snorts at that. “Is that the technical term?”

“It is actually,” Lexa says, giving her a wry smile. A beat passes. “Do you want me to give you a ride back to your place? I need to shower first but I can be ready in half an hour.”

And okay, one, the thought of Lexa in the shower is conjuring up all sorts of explicit images in her head. And two, a half hour morning routine has Lexa looking as flawless as she does every day? It seems impossible. She could take 45 minutes for herself and look barely presentable. But then Lexa is effortlessly gorgeous, even now with her wild and yesterday’s mascara smudged around her eyes.

“Actually I drove here,” Clarke says, stretching her arms above her head. “l have a change of clothes in my car and if you’d be so kind as to lend me the use of your shower, I’ll drive home after. I mean we don’t want to show up at the office together. That might set tongues wagging,” she tacks on suggestively.

Lexa smirks. “Well we certainly don’t want to...wait, hang on a second. You brought a spare set of clothes? That’s rather presumptuous of you,” she teases accusatorially. “Did you have me down as an easy lay, Clarke?”

The twinkle in Lexa’s eyes sends the butterflies in her stomach into a frenzy. They’ve had sex, experienced the most intimate parts of each other, and yet some light mockery gets her all flustered? Lexa Woods is something else, alright.   

“Actually, _Lexa_ ,” Clarke retorts, poking her in the ribs, “I keep a change of clothes in my car ever since that day you cut me off on the highway.” Lexa’s cheeks turn pink. “Though you didn’t disprove the easy lay part.”

She chuckles at her own wit, laughing harder when she catches the incredulous look on Lexa’s face. She stops abruptly, breath catching in her throat when Lexa s straddles her in the blink of an eye, pinning both wrists to the bed. Lexa smirks as she hovers over her and she has nowhere else to look besides emerald green eyes shining with mirth.

“You weren’t exactly playing hard to get either,” Lexa murmurs, her lips tantalisingly close as they ghost over Clarke’s own.

Clarke swallows hard. “I tend not to be coy about the things I want.”

“Is that so?”

She nods, nose brushing against Lexa’s. She’s not sure how many more of these charged moments she can take if there’s going to be no follow-up. They don’t have the time for-

“Which brings me to my next point,” Clarke says, smiling at her own genius. “You need to go and get ready, right?”

Lexa frowns slightly but nods.

Clarke smiles wider. “Right. You need to shower, I need to shower. We could both shower together. Purely as a time-saving exercise. Obviously,” she says as innocently as she can.

Lexa’s eyes darken instantaneously. “Obviously,” she echoes.

“Plus it would be better for the environment.”

“It’s of paramount importance to take care of our planet.”

“It’s a great thing we’re doing here.”

“The best.”

Two minutes later they’re stood under the hot spray of the shower. Fifteen minutes later Lexa’s pressed against the cool tiles, moans rising into the air along with the steam as she comes over Clarke’s hand.

They leave Lexa’s apartment well behind schedule.

 

 ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

She spends the drive home cursing herself for not thinking ahead and placing her sketch book in the car last night. It contains all her logo designs and it’s the only thing she really needs for work today, save for her purse. It’s fortunate really that she’d spent so much time sketching out different variations of the final logo by hand. Her designs are the only thing that remains of the original work for the Polaris project – no one else has been quite so lucky.

Her mind drifts to the brief conversation she’d had with Lexa before they’d both left the apartment. Where she’d confessed what had been playing on her mind all morning: that her plan had seemed like a great idea post-orgasm at 1am but the reality is it won’t work. If she gets ‘fired’ she loses access to Trikru and therefore access to Lexa.  She won’t have much to offer Nia if she’s no longer seen to be in Lexa’s inner circle.

Lexa had shushed her and promised they’d work out something better. That they’d work together to come up with a brilliant plan to overthrow Nia once and for all.

_Together._

Her brain keeps fixating on that word. She knows why. It’s because Lexa had said it so thoughtlessly, as though it were obvious that the pair of them were in this alongside each other. An alliance. A force to be reckoned with. Equals.

The thought thrills her as she climbs the stars to her apartment. Lexa trusts her and she trusts Lexa. It’s enough to make her believe they can come up with something spectacular to rise from the ashes and pull this bid off.

She’s just about the put her key in the lock when the door swings open abruptly to reveal a grinning Raven standing in the threshold.

“Aha, the wanderer returns!” Raven smirks, brandishing a piece of toast at her. “I don’t need three guesses to work out what you got up to last night. Or should I say _who_ you got up to.”

Clarke’s expression remains blank. “How long have you been waiting behind the door to ambush me?”

“I wasn’t waiting.”

Clarke arches an eyebrow.

“Okay, like 15 minutes,” Raven sighs, throwing her hands up. “Thought I heard you coming up the stairs five minutes ago and jumped out to surprise you. Turns out it was Mrs Callaghan from next door. I almost gave her a heart attack. You ever heard an 80 year old say ‘motherfucker’? It’s pretty impressive.”

She rolls her eyes and brushes past Raven to get into the apartment, setting her keys on the counter. She thought Raven and Octavia might have left for work already. At least if they’re here she can catch a ride – its Raven’s week to carpool.

She walks over to the coffee table and picks up her sketchbook, tucking it under her arm.

“So you finally banged, huh?” Raven drawls, taking a bite of her toast. “Well congratulations, it’s about time. I honest to god thought I would have suffocated on the sexual tension before it actually happened.”

Clarke feels her cheeks burn with a traitorous blush. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she snaps. Raven grins. “And I didn’t say we slept together.”

“No, but that enormous hickey says you did,” Raven counters, nodding pointedly.

“What?!”

Her heart skips a beat as she rushes over to the mirror hanging in the hall. She cranes her neck but upon further inspection there’s no mark to be seen. When she spins around Raven is grinning even wider than before. The oldest trick in the book and she fell for it.  

“You’re a jerk, Reyes.”

Raven starts to cackle just as Octavia saunters into the living room, casting a quizzical look at the pair of them.

“What’s going on in here?” Octavia asks, plucking the toast from Raven’s hand a taking a bite. “I can’t usually get a word out of either of you before 9am.”

“Theft apparently,” Raven says, looking mournfully at the pilfered toast. “And also, Clarke and Commander Hotstuff totally did the do.”

Clarke narrows her eyes. “Ok, first of all...banging? Did the do? How old are you, 12?”

It’s a weak retort. Both O and Raven sense it as they wear identical grins. At least they don’t know about the desk-sex in Lexa’s office, she can take some comfort in that.

“Oh my god, you totally did,” Octavia squeals, practically bouncing with glee. “So go on, enlighten us, how was it?”

Clarke bites on her lip to keep from smiling. “It was,” _incredible_ , “good. It was good.”

“Good?” Raven echoes, turning to face her girlfriend. “She pines over this woman for weeks like some hormonal teenager and all we get is _good_? I feel cheated.”

“I sense we won’t be getting the sordid details?” Octavia teases. Clarke knows she’s joking.

 “You sense correct.”

“So are you guys dating now?” Raven asks.

And isn’t that the million dollar question.

“I don’t know,” Clarke says. It’s an honest statement. “We didn’t really talk about it. I went around there to discuss what happened with the project and we just-”

“Ah I was wondering when you were going to bring _that_ up,” Octavia cuts in. Clarke doesn’t miss the edge to her voice or the alarmed look in Raven’s eyes as the atmosphere shifts. “Because I know the two of you know more than you’re letting on. Rae told me not to hassle you about it yesterday but you guys can’t keep me in the dark on this. It’s not fair.”

“Babe, we weren’t hiding anyth-”

“No, don’t _babe_ me ,” Octavia says, crossing her arms as that infamous Blake temper rears. “I want to hear it from Clarke.”

Raven picks that moment to look at her feet and Clarke feels incredibly guilty for causing any awkwardness between her best friends.

She appreciates that Raven didn’t say anything and she understands why Octavia is mad. Octavia worked harder than most on the project and hearing that Clarke could have been the cause of all this would have been crushing. Fortunately that has turned out to be far from truth – a fact she needs to relay to both of them.

“I’m sorry, O,” Clarke says, meeting her friend’s eyes. “Yesterday we didn’t know the full story – there were too many theories and uncertainties. That’s why I went to Lexa for answers.”

Octavia frowns then opens her mouth to say something when Clarke cuts her off.

“I promise I’ll fill you both in on everything I know on the way to work, ok? No more secrets.”

 

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

“No fucking way,” Octavia mutters as they pull into the parking lot. “So she thinks there’s more than one spy?”

Clarke shrugs. “It’s entirely plausible.”

It’s been a rough journey this morning and not just in terms of the car ride. First Octavia was pissed when she learned that they kept the missing pass from her. That had quickly turned to sympathy upon hearing that Clarke had been framed. Then she’d come full circle to angry again.

“Well if you guys know the ‘cleaner’ is one of Azgeda’s men why don’t you just interrogate him?” Octavia asks.

Its seems like a decent suggestion but if they do that, Nia will know they’re onto her. She tells Octavia as much and the girl frowns, brow furrowed as she wracks her brain for another solution.

Raven wears a similar expression though her eyes remain fixed on the road. In fact, come to think of it, Raven’s been quiet almost the entire way here. It’s uncharacteristic and unsettling.

 She’s right to be suspicious because as soon as the car is parked and the engine dies, Raven’s out of the car and racing towards the building as fast as her limp will allow.

“Where are you going?” Clarke shouts.

Raven turns round but doesn’t stop walking. “To investigate a hunch. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Octavia calls after her.

Raven pauses, rolls her eyes and then jogs back towards them, stopping just in front of Octavia to pull her in for a quick kiss.

“Cute,” Octavia smirks. “But what I actually meant was you forgot your bag, genius.”

She holds up the rucksack in question and Raven takes it, a deep blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Not a fucking word, Griffin,” Raven mutters before she’s rushing off again.

Clarke and Octavia share a knowing look, laughing as they walk side by side up to the building.

“What do you think she’s up to?” Clarke asks.

“I don’t know,” Octavia muses. “Something brilliant to get us all out of this mess, probably.”

She has no doubt. She could say the same thing about another certain someone.

 

 

 

 //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

Lexa POV

 

Try as she might, Lexa Woods cannot get Clarke Griffin out of her mind. Ever since she’d woken up this morning with the comforting warmth of Clarke’s body pressed against her, she’s thought of little else other than golden hair, blue eyes and that breathtaking smile.

Being with Clarke, finally being able to touch her and hold her in the way she’d been desperate to for so long seemed to have put a rose tinted filter on her morning. Nothing seemed quite so difficult, quite so impossible now that’s she’s certain Clarke is on her side 100%.

Not even the morning meeting which she was expecting to be mentally laborious seemed quite so daunting with Clarke repeatedly catching her eye a few rows back. The small smile just for her had made her heart soar.

She’d been astonished when every single member of her team showed up – even Dax who had openly sneered the day before. In fact her employees seemed to hang onto her every word as she delegated responsibilities and set deadlines. The protests at the increased workload she’d been anticipating didn’t come. Everyone merely nodded and got on with it.

Perhaps she’s more inspiring of a leader than she gives herself credit for.

She finds herself thinking about Clarke again as she opens the door to her office. Frankly, the eagerness and enthusiasm Clarke had shown in wanting to help her destroy Nia Queen’s web of treachery and deceit had been surprising. She’d assumed if she ever had the opportunity to take Nia down that she’d be doing it alone. After all, she’s been doing most everything alone for as long as she can remember.

But now there’s Clarke. Clarke who believes in her and is willing to take whatever risks necessary to ensure that they succeed. Clarke who is willing to embroil herself in this bitter feud even if it means putting herself in danger. Clarke who is willing to stand by her side as they try to navigate this mess together. Because above it all Clarke is loyal, she sees that, and that’s why she lov-

“Your heart eyes back there were nauseating.”

Anya’s voice makes her jump. When she looks up she sees her best friend smirking at her from the comfort of the plush leather office chair. _Her_ leather office chair, in _her_ office.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Lexa snaps, scowling as she runs a hand through her hair. “And dare I ask what hearteyes are?”

 “It’s a term the youths use based on an emoji. It means you can tell when one person is attracted to another from the ridiculously dreamy look in their eyes, ergo, you.”

“You know saying ‘youths’ makes you sound incredibly old, right? Nothing shouts ‘I’m in my early thirties’ more than outdated slang.”

Anya merely smirks wider as she leans on the desk, head propped on her elbow. “Not denying the hearteyes though, huh? Smart.”

 “Is there a reason you’re here?” Lexa counters hotly, feeling her cheeks burn. “Do you have any updates for me or did you just stop by for-”

“I do, actually,” Anya says, straightening up and adopting a serious expression. “I got your text about the cleaner and looked into his file.”

“And?”

“Employed by us through an outside contractor around three months ago. His name is listed as Jon Gregory but he’s a total ghost. His social security is fake, his address is non-existent and you can bet your ass that isn’t his real name. I’ll give you three guesses as to who hired him.”

“Titus,” Lexa practically growls.

“Got it in one,” Anya nods grimly. “Unsurprisingly he didn’t show up for work last night. Nia probably pulled the plug before his cover was blown.”

Lexa paces the room as she absorbs this information. Honestly, it doesn’t factor much into the grand scheme of things. They already knew the guy was a mole so there’s no shock there. It does however, mean she’s going to have to scrutinise every single person Titus was responsible for hiring. Yet another inconvenience.

“I’ve already compiled a list of the people Titus hired. I’ll start looking through them as soon as we’re done here,” Anya says, reading her mind. “How was the meeting with Gustus yesterday?”

She stops pacing immediately. This is the one thing she’d managed to avoid really talking about with Clarke last night.

“Not well,” Lexa sighs heavily. “He’s understandably concerned. He said he’d give me until the end of the week to get some answers before he flies down here himself.”

“You know he trusts you, right?” Anya says. “If he had no faith in you he’d be here already to take over.”

Lexa nods. She knows. Knows the gravity of what that means. Gustus, much like Anya, is practically family. He’s been the closest thing to a father-figure she’s ever known and he places an immense amount of confidence in her. Hell, its why she’s here in the first place trying to save this office from closure.

“So what are you going to do?”

“Honestly, I don’t know yet. I’ll work something out.”

Anya sends her a small smile. “I know you will. And when you do, I’m here to help in any way I can,” she says, rising from the chair and heading for the door. “In the meantime I’ll get to work on those files. I’ll let you know as soon as I find anything suspicious.”

“Thanks,” Lexa says as Anya passes her. “Ahn?”

“Mmm?”

“You’re a good friend. Thank you for being here for me because honestly...I couldn’t do it without you.”

She goes in for a hug and then decides it would be far too sentimental for their unique friendship, settling instead for an awkward squeeze on the shoulder.

Anya looks at the hand on her shoulder and then back to Lexa, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t go getting all mushy on me now, Woods,” she teases lightly. “Save that shit for the day we win the bid.”

Lexa sees the flicker of a smile creep across Anya’s face and struggles to fight off one of her own. With a final curt nod she’s left alone in the office with her thoughts. She takes a seat behind her desk and powers up her computer complete with a new hard drive which Monty worked overtime last night to install.

She runs her hands along the smooth mahogany and has a vivid flashback of Clarke’s legs wrapped tightly around her waist as she rocked into her again and again. When she closes her eyes it’s as if she can still feel Clarke’s breath hot against her neck as she builds her up to orgasm, small noises of pleasure sending a shiver down her spine.

Sex with Clarke, is for lack of a better word, incredible. Before yesterday, she honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so alive but _god_ , Clarke sets her on fire in the best kind of way. Everything about her is mesmerising and thought of having her again, of giving herself to Clarke again, creates a warm feeling in her stomach.

She doesn’t want to be dramatic and say sleeping with Clarke is life-changing but it’s certainly profound. The way Clarke touched her, the way she kissed, the way her face looked when she came – it’s all imprinted in her memory, so vivid its almost tangible.

She’ll probably never be able to look at this desk the same way again but it’s not a bad thing by any means. And here she is again. Mind full of Clarke when she should be-

Her eyes fly open when the door does, and Jesus fucking Christ, doesn’t anyone knock anymore?!

Her head snaps up and she’s ready to deliver a scathing rebuke to the individual who considered it acceptable to barge on into her office. Only her words die on her tongue because Raven stands in the open doorway, brow sweaty and breathing heavily as though she’s just ran a great distance.

“Raven?”

Raven steps into the room, eyes darting back and forth like she’s searching for something. It’s extremely odd behaviour, even for Raven.

“Hey Lexa. Just wanted to check your computer was working ok,” Raven says, still not looking at her but seemingly inspecting her pot plants with great interest. “Sometimes when we install new hardware there can be a few glitches.”

“There’s no problems so far,” Lexa says, frowning. “Why are you-”

Raven turns, pressing a finger to her lips and pulling a notebook from her pocket. Raven holds up the notebook in front of her and she has to squint to make out the woman’s messy scrawl.

**I found something. Not safe to talk here. Act natural and play along.**

Her eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up as she looks at Raven curiously. Raven gives her a pointed look  before she flips to the next page of the notebook and begins writing.

“That’s good. I’ll let Sinclair know that everything’s running smoothly. Do you have time to come and look at the new system security package now?”

**Come with me to the IT office. Don’t talk along the way.**

She nods her understanding, wondering what fresh hell this could possibly be.

Lexa clears her throat. “Yes. I have a free window.”

“Ok then let’s go.”

As per instructed, they don’t talk the entire way to the basement, merely sharing the occasional sideways look. The only sound is the clunk of their shoes against the stairs as they descend, Lexa’s anxiety growing the entire time.

The IT Office is mercifully empty when they enter and Raven shuts the door behind them, gesturing for Lexa to take a seat before retrieving something from her desk. When Raven wordlessly holds it out to her she can see it’s small, no bigger than a nickel and made of plastic. She takes it delicately between her fingers and holds it up to the light for closer inspection.

The realisation hits her like a ton of bricks.

“Is this a-”

“Recording device?” Raven supplies. “Yep. Sure is.”

Fantastic. So not only do Azgeda have a mole but they’ve been covertly listening to their conversations for god knows how long. When are the nasty surprises going to come to an end? Nia is even more devious and sneaky than she’d given her credit for.

Lexa’s heart beats erratically. “Where did you find it?”

“That one was in the board room.”

Fuck.

“This one? You mean there’s more.”

“Unfortunately yes,” Raven nods. “It can’t have been there long. It was behind the projector I was fixing last week and I didn’t see it then. My guess is they were placed there on the night of the break in.”

“Where else did you find them?” Lexa demands.

“So far I found one in the breakroom and two more in the main workspace on the fifth floor. I can search your office too but-”

“Do they still work?” Lexa interrupts.

“Yeah they still work. I mean, that one is turned off right now but-”

“Can you put them back?” Lexa demands, cutting Raven off yet again. “Could you put them back without the person who put them there knowing they’d been tampered with?”

Poor Raven looks beyond confused. “Y-yeah, of course if I did it quick enough. I only found them 15 minutes ago but...why the hell would I put them back?”

Lexa springs to her feet, pacing the length of the office as a plan forms in her mind. It’s crazy, it’s risky, but it’s just what they need. She didn’t become one of this country’s leading strategists by playing it safe. She’s a visionary. Now more than ever she needs to be daring and confident. She needs to take a leap of faith.

But she won’t be doing it alone.

“Raven, put those devices back exactly where you found them and do another sweep,” Lexa instructs, still pacing back and forth. “Then I want you to check my office. Tell me if you find a mic but do not move it.”

Raven blinks slowly. “Why do you want me to...wait, hold on a second. Are we scheming right now?” she asks, face cracking into a grin. “Please tell me we’re scheming?”

Lexa fights off a grin “We’re scheming,” she confirms.

“Yes,” Raven cries, punching the air. “I fucking love scheming. What’s the plan?”

“For now just put those devices back where you found them,” Lexa says. Raven salutes. “I’ll text you the next stages of the plan. There’s no way I trust the communication system here until we've thoroughly assessed it. And for the love of god, be subtle.”

Raven winks. “Subtle is my middle name.”

For some reason she very much doubts that.

When Raven hurries out of the room to put the audio devices back, she pulls out her phone, sending out a simple text and hoping the recipients will pick up on the double meaning.

**Drinks on me tonight. 8pm at The Dropship.**

She isn’t waiting long before she has her replies.

 **Reyes 11:31:** Can I bring O?

 **Reyes 11:31:** I’m bringing O. She loves scheming too.

 **Anya 11: 32:** This had better be you coming up with a plan and not an actual social event. Midweek drinking is a cry for help.

 **Clarke 11:33:** Sure thing  <3

The little red heart emoji makes her stomach do that weird sweeping thing. She’s tries to ignore it. She not ready to consider what getting all excited over a very simple text message and a stupid cartoon heart from Clarke could mean. Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please let me know if you liked the chapter :)  
> Next time: gay scheming commences  
> HMU on tumblr at toolateintheday


	18. Dial S, for Scheming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK what happened but this chapter disappeared??? Anyway, its back up now  
> Thanks for all your kudos, comments and continued support. I love you guys.  
> So this chapter we will get to see the plot to overthrow Nia start to take shape.  
> Idk why I promise myself I will write short chapters when I am just not capable of doing so.  
> Anyway - I hope you enjoy it :)

Lexa POV

 

"Why can’t you just tell me what the plan is now? You know I hate surprises.”

Lexa rolls her eyes for the third time in as many minutes. She should have known what to expect when she saw the sour look on Anya’s face as the cab pulled up outside her apartment in Silver Lake. The same sour look is still firmly in place 10 minutes later as they travel past the Staples Centre.

She’s not sure why Anya has been complaining non-stop about every little thing from the choice of radio station to how at almost 8pm it can still be “so fucking hot.” Her best friend is a born and bred New Yorker but she’s had years to acclimatize - tonight Anya’s just being fastidious. And patient though she may be, the strained atmosphere in the back seat is beginning to grate on her.

 “You hate everything,” Lexa deadpans. Anya’s scowl only deepens. “And it’s not a surprise, I just don’t want to have to explain it to you and then answer the same questions twice when we get to The Dropship.”

“Fine,” is Anya’s clipped response. 

Her explanation is somewhat true. She doesn’t want to repeat herself but there’s also the small matter of the plan not quite being complete yet. The key components are all there, of course, but it’s there are some finer details that still need to be worked out before they implementation it.

 It’s precisely why she’s called this gathering in the first place. She needs help. There’s no weakness in admitting that; it would be ignorant to think she could orchestrate this scheme singlehandedly. The best leaders are never truly alone – Presidents have their VPs, Commanders have their Generals, and she...she has something else altogether.

When Anya scowls and shifts in her seat yet again, muttering incoherently, she decides she’s had enough.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Lexa sighs. “What’s wrong with you?”

Anya arches an eyebrow. “What?”

“You’re scowling.”

“I always scowl.”

“More than usual. Now are you going to tell me what’s bothering you or are we going to keep up this pretence all evening?”

Anya pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales audibly. “I just don’t see why we had to do this at The Dropship of all places.”

That’s it? The venue is why she’s so sullen and irritable tonight? Strange.

“Because we’re unlikely to be disturbed there,” Lexa explains, trying to mask her annoyance. “I can’t very well host a meeting with the four of you in the office or keep you all after working hours without potentially drawing unwanted attention. We’re trying to be covert, remember?”

“So you’re taking us to a dive bar instead?” Anya scoffs. “Very professional.”

“Well since we’re meeting to discuss how to best to destroy Nia’s career via subterfuge, I’d say professionalism is out the window, wouldn’t you?” Lexa counters.

Anya rolls her eyes. “I’m just saying we could have gone literally anywhere else.”

“But everyone knows this bar and it’s within reasonable travelling distance so I don’t understand why you insist on being so difficult about-”

The penny finally drops. Their gazes lock and her lips curve into a grin that’s as smug as it is satisfied when a flicker of panicked recognition crosses Anya’s face. Of course. The true nature of Anya’s complaining is obvious now.

Lexa arches an eyebrow. “ _Luna_  wouldn’t happen to be working tonight, would she?” Anya’s cheeks turn pink in a rare blush. “Don’t be embarrassed just because your girlfriend-”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Anya snaps, scowl in place once again. “It was just a one night thing. You know some of us are capable of having sex without experiencing the urge to U-Haul.”

Lexa smirks, choosing to ignore that particular jibe. “If it was ‘just a one night thing’ then why are you being so weird about it?”

“I’m not being weird.”

A beat passes.

“You like her.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do,” Lexa sing-songs. “One night thing, my ass.”

It’s said in jest but Anya stiffens immediately, turning away from her to look out of the window. Her smile slides from her face to be replaced with a frown. It’s an odd reaction because they normally thrive on teasing and mocking each other. Being mean but  _not_  mean is one of the staples of their friendship. But logic tells her ribbing Anya further would be a poor move right now.

She can’t work it out. Usually Anya is more than willing to talk about her conquests, often humorously pointing out how little game Lexa has by comparison.

As similar as they are in personality, the two of them are worlds apart where sex is concerned. Anya’s so effortless smooth when it comes to flirting that she could charm the skin off a snake. She, by comparison, is far more cautious and guarded. But when it comes to confronting their feelings, they’re very much alike. That is to say, they suck at it. 

“We’re here,” Anya mutters as the cab slows to a stop.

She watches silently as Anya pays the driver and then exits the cab, noting her friend’s clenched jaw and stiff movements as she follows suit. In all the years they’ve known each other, Anya has been single and never given any indication that’s anything other than what she wants. It’s none of her business, what Anya does with her heart, but the reaction she’d had over Luna was telling. Maybe Anya just needs a little encouragement the way she did with Clarke.

“You  _do_  like her, don’t you?” Lexa presses as they walk along. Anya’s eyes remain focused straight ahead. “Look, Ahn, if you have feelings for this girl then why don’t you ask her out on a date?”

Clearly she’s hit a nerve as Anya rounds on her, fixing her with a glare lesser men and women have cowered under. Had she not spent nearly every day for six years working with Anya, she might have faltered too.

“You want to talk about  _feelings_?” Anya scathes, cocking her head. “Did I miss something which means suddenly you’re an expert now?”

_Whoa._

“No. No you know that’s not-”

“Okay, let’s talk about feelings,” Anya says with faux-enthusiasm. “We’ll start with you first. Have you told Clarke Griffin how crazy you are about her yet?”

Lexa stops in her tracks, shocked. Well fuck. She definitely should have seen this coming.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Anya deadpans. “Where do  _you_  get off telling  _me_  who I should date when you can’t navigate your own love life?”

Ouch. That’s enough to snap her out of her momentary shock as she glares at Anya. Looks like they’re about to become the classy kind of people who argue outside bars.

“Okay, one, I wasn’t telling you what to do, I was just making a suggestion,” Lexa counters hotly, anger rising. “And two, we’ve already been over this. I told you a relationship with Clarke will have to wait until the project ends. You agreed with me on that, you said it was the right thing to do!”

“I agreed you shouldn’t get involved when you were both working together on this project,” Anya says. “Doesn’t mean I advocate you fucking her in your office in the meantime. Which, by the way, is an image I’ll have to live with forever thank you very much.”

Okay, Anya may have a point with that last bit but it was a spur of the moment thing. No one plans on having sex in an unlocked office with 50 of their employees working 15ft away.

Lexa arches an eyebrow. “Are you really trying to tell me you have a problem with casual sex now?”

“You know I don’t, I’m not a fucking hypocrite,” Anya dismisses. “But we both know that this  _thing_  you have with Clarke isn’t casual. I mean, have you even talked about what this means to either of you? Do you know what you’re getting into?”

Frustratingly, the answer is no on both counts.

Lexa’s hands clench into fists at her sides. “Clarke knows this isn’t just some fling. She knows how I feel about her.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t want to watch you get your heart get broken a second time!”

Anya’s words ring in her ears in the stunned silence that follows.

There it is. The issue she’s been tiptoeing around laid out in front of her. The words hurt like a punch to the gut because there’s truth laced in every syllable. She  _hasn’t_ talked to Clarke about what they’re doing; about what this means to either of them.

Everything seemed to happen so quickly that there hasn’t been time to discuss the complexities of an ‘ _us’_  with Clarke. But Clarke must know how she feels; that this isn’t some sort of fleeting affair. That this isn't just about sex. She must know it’s deeper than that – infinitely more meaningful. She _has_ to. Especially after Lexa confessed how much she wanted her that fateful day in her office.

She remembers it clearly .The vulnerability and fear in Clarke’s beautiful blue eyes as she waited for an answer. The rapid beating of her own heart as it pounded in her chest. The trembling of her lips and she cupped Clarke’s face in her hands and kissed her desperately with everything she had.

That was  _real_.

 Waking up next to Clarke in her bed was real. Kissing her, touching her, Clarke whispering her name as she came down from her high...it was all real. She extinguishes the flicker of self doubt in her mind immediately and refuses to entertain the idea that what they have is just pent up sexual tension finally bubbling to the surface.

 As much as she understands Anya’s concern, because there’s no doubt that’s where that outburst came from, her best friend doesn’t know how wide of the mark she is. Because Clarke is different. Clarke is special. Clarke isn’t Costia.

“I know she isn’t,” Anya says softly.

She doesn’t realise she’s spoken the words out loud until Anya moves to stand in front of her, placing both hands on her shoulders.

“Lex, I’m sorry. What I said was out of line and it’s not my place to tell you how you should live your life,” Anya sighs heavily, casting her eyes to the floor. “I just – I care about you, you know? And whatever you’re getting involved in with Clarke... I just hope she’s on the same level as you are. I don’t want you to get hurt again. I couldn’t bear it.”

 “I know,” Lexa reassures, meeting Anya’s eyes. “I know you’re only trying to help and I appreciate that but this thing with Clarke, I...I’ve never felt this way about anyone, not even Costia. There aren’t words to describe it. I just feel drawn to her, like we’re meant to be together, you know?” she pauses.

 Anya nods like she understands. And wow, when she left her apartment this evening she did not envisage pouring her heart out in the middle of a street in Downtown LA would be on the agenda, but here they are.

 “It’s kind of scary actually,” Lexa continues. “Like intense and consuming and maddening in the best possible way. And I’m aware this probably sounds crazy because we haven’t known each other long but-”

Anya shakes her head. “Its not crazy,” she reassures. “And you don’t need to explain, I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

“With the hearteyes?” Lexa asks coyly.

“With the hearteyes,” Anya says, biting back a smile. “And for what it’s worth, you could have done much worse than Griffin. The girl might be infuriatingly stubborn but she’s got integrity, I’ll give her that.” A beat passes. “Anyway, we should probably head inside.”

Lexa almost does a double take before she follows because Anya paying a compliment entirely of her own volition? It’s unheard of. Anya had been indifferent to Costia at the very most, but this, Anya speaking kindly about someone without prompting or ulterior motive? It’s practically a seal of approval. She grins to herself as they cross the threshold and step into the bar.

The Dropship is a lot less busy tonight than it had been the Saturday before last. She doesn’t imagine a place like this could ever be considered quiet but at least there’s enough room to move without fear of someone spilling their drink over her.

“Wait, does this mean you actually like Clarke?” Lexa asks as they approach the bar.

Anya doesn’t respond, her eyes flitting around the room likely in search of Luna. Anya needn’t have worried – Murphy, sullen as ever, appears to be manning the bar solo.

“Anya?”

“What?”

“Clarke?” Lexa says pointedly. “Do you like her?”

Anya casts her a withering look. “She is not as insufferable as first thought.”

Lexa grins in response.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” Anya tacks on. “You’re buying me the most expensive drink this dive has to offer for making me spend my Wednesday evening with the three stooges.”

“You know, if we’re throwing around pop culture references then a Totally Spies comparison would have been more fitting,” Raven intones, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. “Though I suppose now that there are five of us we’re more like the Scooby gang. Lexa’s a Velma, obviously. And you, Forrester,” Raven pauses, smirking, “strike me as a total Daphne.”

Lexa bites back a laugh as Anya’s jaw ticks.

“And what does that make you, Reyes?” Anya drawls. “The incompetent stoner?”

Raven either misses or ignores the insult. “Shaggy? I always saw myself as more of a Fred,” she muses, tapping her chin in contemplation. “But as someone who is always hungry and unwittingly saving the day at the last minute, I think you might have a point there.”

Anya looks beyond annoyed but fortunately Murphy chooses that moment to slope over and take their order. She uses the distraction to subtly glance around the bar, hoping to catch a glimpse of familiar golden hair.

“Clarke’s over in a booth at the back with O,” Raven tells her with a knowing grin.

Turns out she isn’t subtle at all. She casts her gaze over to the far end of the room just as Clarke looks up, smiling almost shyly as she bites on her lower lip. And god, when Clarke’s looking at her like  _that_  she almost forgets that they’re here to formulate a potentially dangerous plan with their careers hanging in the balance.

Suppressing the urge to grin like an idiot, she offers a small smile in return. The warm feeling in her stomach is too pleasant to ignore.

 “First round’s on me,” Raven says, pulling out her wallet. “What are you having?”

“Just a coke,” Lexa says.

“A coke?” Raven deadpans. “Who comes to a bar and orders a coke?”

“Someone who wants to keep a clear head.”

“Yeah, well all things considered, we could all use a drink. A real one. At least let me get you a beer if-”

“Wait, you’re paying, Reyes?” Anya spins around, eyes dancing with amusement. “In that case I’ll have a glass of that 15 year old Glenfiddich that’s gathering dust on your top shelf,” she tells Murphy. “And make it a double.”

“Sure thing, cheekbones.”

The look on Raven’s face when Murphy presents her with the bill is one of abject shock. Murphy wears the same expression a moment later when Raven tells him to put it on her tab.

 

 

 

 

 

In the end she’s glad to have accepted the beer Raven had insistently pushed in her direction. Especially now that all eyes in the booth on her as they wait on tenterhooks to hear her plan. The idea she has is ballsy to say the least – it sits on the spectrum somewhere between genius and absurd, so a little liquid courage isn’t exactly unwelcome.

She takes a sip of her drink, pointedly trying not to catch Clarke’s eye from where she sits opposite beside Raven and Octavia.  It’s already happened twice since she sat down and each time those brilliant blue eyes meet her own, it’s electric. The glances between them, however brief and fleeting, are charged – weighted with the memory of a blissful morning spent in bed together.

She allows her mind to wander for a moment, imagining how different things could be if their situation allowed it. In her head she smiles warmly, greets Clarke with a kiss and slides into the booth beside her, their hands linked under the table – hidden from sight so their friends can’t make fun of them for being that gross cute couple.

She shakes her head as if to banish the thought. That is not their reality. It could be one day; but for now they need to focus on the task at hand. The future of her employees, her people, depends on the decisions they make tonight. She simply cannot allow herself the selfishness of indulging in her own personal desires with so much at stake. As always, duty must come first.

“So when are we going to learn the reason why you summoned us here?” Anya drawls. “Because as much as I’m enjoying all the dramatic suspense, this isn’t The X Factor. Start talking, Woods.”

Lexa side-eyes her before she clears her throat. “Before we begin, I need to reiterate that anything we discuss here tonight stays strictly between the five of us. I've come up with a plan to bring Nia Queen's crooked reign as Azgeda CEO come crashing down. We're going under the radar on this one so the success of this scheme is dependent on absolute secrecy. Is everyone clear?”

Everyone nods, staring intently and hanging onto every word as they straighten up in their seats.

“Good, then let’s begin,” Lexa says, lowering her voice slightly. “Though there’s no hard evidence to damn them with, we all  _know_  that Azgeda have at least one spy within Trikru.” Everyone nods again. “We know they're responsible for the attack on out project work and we know that they tried to frame Clarke for that atrocity. But what we didn’t have was a way to prove their involvement. Until now.”

She pauses briefly, casting her gaze across the group as the information sinks in. And as much as she loathes admitting Anya is right on this particular point, she  _does_  have a small penchant for dramatics when the situation allows it. What can she say, it’s a guilty pleasure.

“I thought you said we shouldn’t go after the cleaner? Jon Gregory or whatever his real name is?” Clarke questions, brow furrowed. It’s probably inappropriate to find it quite so adorable. “If we do that then Nia will know we’re onto her, won’t she?”

“We’re not going after him,” Lexa answers, shaking her head. “Thanks to Raven there's been a new development in the investigation."

"Who knew that being irritating to the point of tears had its uses," Anya deadpans.  

Lexa throws her a warning look before she continues. "Anyway, this development is being kept under wraps. No one else besides the five of us can be allowed to know about it. If we go about this correctly, it should allow us a way to bring Nia and her whole corrupt organisation down once and for all. But one wrong move and we-”

“Okay enough of the mysterious build up already,” Anya groans. “Spit it out.”

She fights off a smirk, definitely enjoying this more than she should. Truthfully, it’s difficult not to feel a degree of satisfaction when the possibility of defeating her nemesis is within reach. Across the table Raven catches her eye and grins.

“Do you want to tell them about what you found, Raven, or should I?” Lexa asks.

“I can do one better,” Raven says, grin widening mischievously. “I can show them.”

Raven reaches into her jacket pocked and pulls out one of the small recording devices identical to the one she’d shown Lexa in the IT office earlier. There’s a pregnant silence as Raven places it in the middle of the table and Clarke, Octavia and Anya lean in to get a better look. She can’t help but feel a little gratified to see that Raven also has an appreciation for well-timed dramatics.

“Is that what I think it is?” Octavia asks.

“That babe, is a clandestine listening device,” Raven says, throwing her arm around Octavia’s shoulder. “Turns out they’re scattered all over the fifth floor. We think this Jon Gregory guy planted them at the same time he did a number on the hard drives.”

“So Azgeda have heard everything we’ve discussed on fifth for at least the last two days. Perfect,” Anya mutters lowly, picking up the device to inspect it. “Where’s this one from?”

“Lexa’s office.”

There’s the sound of a strangled yelp when Clarke chokes on her beer, spraying foam over the tabletop as everyone turns their attention to her. Still coughing and spluttering, she fixes Lexa with a wide-eyed look of abject shock. It would seem Clarke has mastered the ability to encapsulate the verbal expression “Oh fuck ” using only her facial muscles.

She frowns and cocks her head to the side before making connection herself, feeling the colour drain from her face. She’s a fool for not realising it instantly. If the recording devices have been active since Monday night then that means-

“Are you ok Clarke?” Octavia asks, patting her on the back.

“Yeah, you’re super red right now,” Raven adds, pulling a face. “You need to calm down. Its not like you  _Oh_...Oh my God,” she whisper shouts. “Tell me you guys didn’t-”

“No!” Clarke and Lexa blurt at the same time.

She shares another panicked look with Clarke, knowing full well they’ve just solidified their guilt.

“You did! You totally did it in Lexa’s office! I knew it!” Raven accuses, halfway between glee and disbelief. She raises her hand for a high-five which Clarke answers a murderous glare. “Hey don’t get angry about it, Griff. To be honest, I’m impressed. It’s pretty hot.”

“Raven!” Octavia chides.

“What?” Raven frowns. Then a second later she looks scandalised. “Eww gross, not because it’s Clarke and Lexa. I meant in an  _objective_  way. Office sex is hot, everyone knows that.”

Everyone  _does_ know that.

She looks up to the ceiling, wondering if the ground is capable of spontaneously swallowing people up should they wish for it hard enough. Or perhaps if there is some sort of higher power up there, they could take mercy and strike her down on the spot so she doesn’t have to watch this scenario play out. A quick glance across the table tells her Clarke looks to be of the same opinion, her face still flushed pink pink as she tries to regain some composure.

“Do you want to be any louder?” Anya hisses, trademark scowl firmly in place. “Only I don’t think everyone North of Santa Monica quite heard you.”

“Sorry,” Raven says holding her hands up. “Anyway, what I was going to say before Griffin had her moment of gay panic is that I found this is Lexa’s office but it’s defective. A total dud. Hasn’t recorded a single thing.”

Thank fuck.

She breathes out a sigh of relief. There’s consolation in knowing that Nia Queen does not possess audio footage of  _that_ tryst with Clarke. That would have been mortifying. Granted it’s not ideal that everyone present now knows they had sex on company property but at least they’ve only outed themselves to their friends. No one here cares that she’s sleeping with one of her employees.

Though for all their sakes she hopes Clarke’s bluffing is better than her poker face just now, or else this plan is going to fail before it even gets off the ground.

“Look, let’s all just acknowledge the gay elephant in the room,” Raven shrugs. “Clarke and Lexa did the no pants dance. It’s not a big dea- ouch!”

“Tact!” Octavia hisses, nudging Raven in the ribs.

You could cut through the awkward silence that follows with a knife.  Anya looks as if she’d like nothing more than to empty the contents of her glass over Raven’s head for making her relive that memory. Clarke, face still red as a tomato, looks as though she’s trying to murder Raven with the intensity of her glare alone.

 She needs to rescue this situation. Tactless though Raven may be, she has conveniently (and abruptly) presented her with the perfect opportunity to launch into an explanation of the plan.

“You’re right, Raven ,” Lexa says. “It’s not a big deal.”

 Four pairs of eyes snap to her, faces painted with open confusion. Clarke in particular is looking at her as though she just announced that she’s one of those flat earth conspiracy theorists.

“It isn’t?” Clarke questions.

 “No. In fact, it’s actually going to be an aspect of the plan,” Lexa says.

Clarke’s head snaps up so fast she might have given herself whiplash. “What?!”

“Oh god, no. Not like that,” Lexa reassures, cringing at her own poor choice of phrasing. “What I meant is that we’re going to use that fact that we, uh...”

“Banged on the desk?” Raven intones.

“...Are involved,” Lexa says, casting Raven a withering look. “We’re going to use that to our advantage. Nia Queen already suspects Clarke and I are together so-“

“And why would she suspect that?” Anya interrupts.

“Because Ontari saw us almost kiss at the fundraiser and you can bet she would have gone running straight to her mother,” Lexa says through gritted teeth. “Now can I get back to the explanation or would anyone else care to interject with a pointless question?” The resulting silence is answer enough. “Anyway, as I was saying, we’re going to ensure that Nia Queen thinks Clarke and I are...” she hesitates, not knowing quite how to phrase this. “an item.”

Clarke shoots her an incredulous look and dawns on her now that she probably should have discussed this aspect of the plan with Clarke beforehand. Alone. This scheme, the way she’s envisioned it, is going to depend heavily on Clarke’s ability to lie, manipulate and convince Nia that she’s willing to turn against Lexa.

It’s a huge ask but there’s been no time to discuss the details prior to now. Hell, she was still running through the logistics of it all 15 minutes ago on the cab ride over. Hopefully Clarke trusts her enough to agree to be a part of it. So far so good, and at least the blonde isn’t interrupting every two seconds like everyone else seems to be doing.

“Lexa, this is madness,” Anya tells her, totally aghast. “Why are you so excited that Azgeda have been listening to everything we've been discussing at work? And why the hell would you want Nia knowing details of your personal life? If she finds out who you’re dating then she’ll use it against you just like last time.” 

She can’t tell if it’s coincidence the way blue eyes connect with her own at the mention of the word “dating.” 

Though there’s decidedly nothing coincidental about the way her mouth turns dry and her breath hitches when Clarke holds her gaze. The ghost of a smile tugging at Clarke’s becomes a silent challenge when she slowly arches an eyebrow, eyes piercing her own all the while. She falters, averting her gaze for a split second and willing herself to say something _,_ to say _anything_. But nothing comes. When she looks back up she hopes she’s imagining the slight slump of Clarke’s shoulders. 

“This isn’t going to be like last time,” Lexa counters, turning her focus back to the matter at hand. “Well...it  _will_ , except this time I’ll be the one pulling the strings. I’m going to play her at her own game. She's going to hear what I want her to hear and think exactly what I want her to think.” She turns to face Clarke. “Remember how you said I should fire you to draw Nia out?”

“Yes,” Clarke says warily. “But we agreed that wouldn’t work.”

“It won’t work, but it did give me the idea for something very similar,” Lexa smiles wryly. “Essentially, what we’re going to do is set a trap. And how do you ensure a trap is successful?”

“You bait it,” Octavia says.

“Just like Network TV executives bait their LGBT viewers,” Raven tacks on.

Lexa nods. “Exactly. We need to make it appealing. So I asked myself, what does Nia want more than anything?”

“To win the Polaris bid and see Trikru fail,” Anya drawls. “Oh, and to ruin your life in the process if past experience is anything to go by.”

 “Right again,” Lexa nods. “So we’re going to bait her and she’s going to fall for it hook, line and sinker. How we do this is actually very simple. Clarke and I are going to have a spectacular argument and then she’s going to threaten to hand in her notice and leave Trikru. I’m then going to try and convince her not to. More specifically, I’m going to  _beg_  her not to. The entire thing is going to be picked up by those audio devices.”

“Okay, I’m not following this at all,” Octavia frowns. “Why is Clarke threatening to hand in her notice better than fake firing her? Isn’t it just the same result?”

“No,” Clarke says, smiling slowly as she catches Lexa’s eye. “Because  _this_  way it looks as though the company needs me. Which by association makes Lexa look desperate and like she can’t win without me. I mean think about it, if one of the lead designers walked at the eleventh hour then there’d be chaos.”

Lexa nods, grateful that Clarke is once again on the same wavelength. “Yes, it gives the appearance that Trikru is weak and when Nia sees there’s dissent within the ranks, she won’t be able to resist exploiting it. She’ll be tripping over herself to make Clarke some sort of shady deal. Especially with the whole ‘lover's’ quarrel’ aspect thrown into the mix.”

“Lover’s quarrel?” Clarke echoes.

Lexa tries not to blush.”I thought it would appeal to Nia’s malicious nature,” she suggests. “You tell me you can’t mix work with dating and that it might be easier for both of us if you just leave with a clean break. I will plead my case and disagree, arguing that we can make it work.”

She doesn’t notice that everyone else is now just sat quietly watching the back and forth she’s got going on with Clarke. She doesn’t notice anything apart from the way Clarke’s eyes light up and her smile grows as she becomes engrossed in the plan.

“Then I’ll say I just don’t know about ‘us’ and that I need some time to think it over,” Clarke says, air quotes and all. “I’ll complain that the stress of the deadline and the burden of keeping our affair a secret is getting to me.”

“Then I’ll beg you to reconsider and give you until Monday to think it over. During that time-”

“Nia will approach me to make an offer.”

“In her eyes she’ll finally have another opportunity to ruin me emotionally and professionally like she’s been trying to do for years.”

“And when I ‘agree,’ I’ll be able to get all the incriminating evidence we need to prove that she’s a blackmailing, duplicitous snake.”

She grins at Clarke, completely in awe of just how brilliant she is – at how in synch they are with each other. Clarke grins right back and in that moment she forgets they’re not alone. She also forgets how problematic a fake argument with Clarke about the complexities of the relationship they’ve yet to define could be. It could be a disaster, an absolute car crash of an idea; but she forgets all of it when Clarke’s smile reaches her eyes.

"You sure you guys didn't have a detailed discussion about this scheme before we all got here?" Raven asks, eyes flitting between the pair of them. "Because that was a seriously coordinated play by play right there."

Clarke shrugs. "Great minds, I guess."

She's certain that no one else catches the wink Clarke throws her a second later. There goes her pulse again, skyrocketing as she wills herself not to blush.

“Let me make sure I’m understanding this correctly,” Octavia cuts in. “The CEO of Azgeda has some personal vendetta against you so that’s why she destroyed all our work on the project? The project that if we lose, we lose our jobs too?”

“Correct,” Lexa says.

“And you want to trick her into convincing Clarke to join her side and ruin Trikru’s chances of winning?”

“Also correct.”

“But Clarke is actually playing a double agent so she can expose Nia’s blackmailing and professional misconduct?”

“You’re three for three.”

“Cool,” Octavia grins. “I am all for nailing that bitch to the wall. Losing 70+ hours of video editing will bring out a person’s vengeful streak.”

“That’s my girl,” Raven says, kissing Octavia on the cheek before turning to face Lexa. “So I presume you guys want some sort of equipment that allows Griffin here to record all her conversations with Nia on the down-low?”

Lexa nods. “Think you’re up to it?”

“Am I up to it?” Raven scoffs. “Please, I live for this espionage shit. I’ll be like James Bond minus the martinis and misogyny.”

“And the smooth pick up lines,” Clarke teases.

“Oh there will be plenty of those, don’t you worry,” Raven counters with a smirk. “Now as for this concealed listening device, do you want it disguised as something inconspicuous or would you rather go for the classic underboob, tape and wire combo?”

Clarke flips Raven off and Lexa rolls her eyes before she fixes her gaze on Anya who has been uncharacteristically quiet the past few minutes. She raises her eyebrows in silent question.

“Oh, you want to know what I think?” Anya says crossing her arms. “What I think is that this plan is completely insane. It sounds like the contrived plot of a bad daytime soap opera.” She pauses and Lexa waits on baited breath, already knowing that the  _'but'_  is coming next. “But I also know you’re a brilliant strategist. A little unhinged, maybe, but still brilliant. So you’d better starting telling the rest of us how we can help bring that miserable wretch to her knees.”

Lexa smirks. “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

 

 

 

 

It takes half an hour longer but they manage to cobble together a definitive plan that everyone understands. On Friday, the curtain comes up and their scheme goes into action. It allows them enough time to prepare and provides Nia with a purposely convenient weekend window to try and lure Clarke in.

It goes a little like this.

Clarke will arrive at work as normal and talk to Octavia about in the break room over their morning coffee. The entire conversation will be picked up by one of the audio devices and Clarke will reveal that she’s looking for work elsewhere. This will be the catalyst that grabs Nia’s attention.  

Next comes the fake argument.

Deciding where to stage it had been one of the trickier parts. Her office is out of the question seeing as the audio device planted there was faulty. The work space and break room were deemed too public which only left the boardroom as a possible option. It should seem pretty convincing; Clarke will storm in and confront her unexpectedly as she’s setting up for a presentation. 

Anya’s role is to continue investigating the records of employees that Titus hired, short-listing anyone who could be a potential Azgeda mole. Anya herself had come up with the idea of catching the infiltrators out by subtly feeding false information to her suspects. If the false information is relayed to Nia and she acts on it, they'll know who the traitor in their midst is.

Meanwhile Raven will be assembling a covert listening device that will allow Clarke to record her conversations with Nia. Raven had been practically bouncing with excitement when Lexa told her she could take full creative licence with the design of the device. She only vaguely regrets it, silently praying that Raven doesn't produce some extravagant showgirl-style headpiece to conceal the equipment in, even if the mental image of Clarke wearing a Carmen Miranda-esque fruit hat is admittedly hilarious.

“Is everyone clear on what they need to do?” Lexa asks, looking around the table. “I understand you’re all taking on a huge risk in doing this so and please understand that none of you are obligated to get involved. If you want to back out, it isn't too late. Just say the word. I wouldn’t blame any of you.”

“I think I speak for everyone here when I say we’re behind you 100%, Commander,” Raven says, smiling widely. Everyone nods. “Plus our jobs are on the line so its kind of a no-brainer. Let’s just hope Nia is as power-hungry and twisted as you say she is.”

“She’ll make her move,” Lexa says evenly. “There’s no doubt about it.”

Raven rubs her hands together as she stands. “Awesome. Well if we’re done here I’m gonna order myself another drink. Shall we, my lady?” she says, holding her hand out to Octavia with an exaggerated flourish.

Octavia follows, the two of them giggling as they go. Its hard not to be a little envious as they walk away hand in hand, carefree and completely comfortable in each other’s presence. And very clearly in love.

That leaves her alone in the booth with Clarke and Anya, the latter looking a little shifty as she eyes keep flitting over to the bar area. She frowns, following Anya’s line of sight and then smirks to herself, earning a curious look from Clarke.

“You know what, I think I’m going to get myself another drink too,” Anya says suddenly, getting to her feet. “Either of you want anything? I’m buying.”

Clarke blinks rapidly, surprise evident in her features. “Uh, I’m good thanks.”

“Me too,” Lexa says. “Thanks though.”

“Sure, cool. Whatever,” Anya mutters distractedly, gaze still fixed somewhere off to the left. “I’ll be right back.”

Clarke waits until Anya’s out of earshot before leaning across the booth. “Ok, what the hell was that about?” she whispers, a crease appearing between her brows. “Did I miss something? Like did she hit her head when I wasn’t looking and forget that she hates me?”

Lexa chuckles. “She doesn’t hate you. In fact earlier she was saying just how much she likes you.”

“Really?”

“No. She did say you’re not as terrible as she originally thought, but coming from Anya, that’s basically the same thing,” Lexa says.  Clarke rolls her eyes. “Besides I think she’s a little too distracted to be throwing around barbed insults right now.”

She jerks her thumb at the bar to where Anya is now talking to Luna who has apparently turned up for her shift, both of them smiling at each other.

Clarke smirks. “Ah, I see. I can sympathise. I mean it’s difficult to remain focused when there’s an attractive woman involved,” she says pointedly, arching an eyebrow for good measure.

She knows she’s blushing. She knows it and she doesn’t care. Clarke smiles at her and she smiles back. Then the moment’s ruined when her brain inconveniently reminds her of why they’re here in the first place.

“Clarke, look I-I need to talk to you about-”

“Do you wanna talk outside?” Clarke cuts in. “It’s kind of noisy in here.”

It isn’t but she nods anyway, following Clarke across the vacant dance floor and out into the alleyway, her heart pounding the entire time.

 

 

 

 

 

And of course. Of course they’re back in the alley where they first kissed almost two weeks ago, perched on these very crates. Well, they’re probably not the  _same_  crates but the setting is almost identical. She’s almost as nervous talking to Clarke now as she was then.

“So what’s on your mind?” Clarke asks, breaking the silence between them. “You’ve got that look on your face again.”

Lexa frowns. “What look?”

“That whole pensive brooding thing you do. I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s sexy, in an ominous kind of way” Clarke teases, “but it’s not exactly filling me with confidence right now.”

“I don’t brood.” She definitely doesn’t pout either.

“Yes, you do.”

“Nope.”

“Yep.”

“Do not.”

“Do too. Now stop stalling and just say whatever it is you wanted to say to me.”

Lexa exhales heavily and tilts her head back until it rests against the brickwork. “I just...are you sure you’re ok with all of this?”

Clarke frowns. “You mean with the plan?”

Yes, let’s stick with the notion that this is solely about the plan and not about the obvious chemistry between us. No need to open up that pandora’s box of emotion right now.

Lexa nods. “Yes. I know I should have consulted you about this first but believe me when I say there really wasn’t any time,” she pauses, swallowing thickly. “And now I feel like I might have put you in a position where you don’t feel like you can say no.”

Clarke shakes her head. “Lexa, it was my idea for you to publicly fire me so we could win this thing. I think that proves I’m more than willing to do what it takes.”

“I know. I’m not questioning your conviction,” Lexa reassures. “I know you’d do anything for your friends but this initial set-up is the easy part. Once Nia makes her move its all down to you. I won’t be able to step in without the risk of blowing your cover. She’s dangerous, Clarke, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about you.”

Clarke’s hand moving to cover her own is unexpected but she makes no move to pull away. She looks up slowly from beneath her lashes. Clarke’s smile is soft and earnest – completely calm as she stares back, blue eyes sparkling when the light from the streetlamp catches them just right. She wonders how it is that one person can be so effortlessly beautiful.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Clarke promises, as if merely saying it would stop her. “I’m well aware of the risks and I know what’s at stake if it all goes wrong...but I’m so sure it won’t. In fact, I’m certain it won’t because if anyone can pull this off, it’s us. Together,” she says, pausing for a moment. “I trust you.”

 “I trust you too, Clarke,” Lexa says without missing a beat.

She gives Clarke’s hand a gentle squeeze though the ‘with everything’ remains unspoken.

“I did want to ask you something though,” Clarke says.

Lexa runs her thumb over Clarke’s knuckles. “So ask me.”

Clarke shifts awkwardly. “Its just...I mean if your plan works, if it all goes the way it’s supposed to then this going to be almost exactly like the last time Nia tried to ruin your career.”

She can see where this is going.

“What’s your question?”

 “You think she won’t see through it? That she’s dumb enough to use the same plan twice?”

Lexa smirks. “Dumb enough? No. But ignorant enough? Yes. She’ll probably think it’s dreadfully clever – that I won’t  _possibly_  see a second betrayal coming.”

“Good job we know better, huh?”

“Mmhmm.”

They slip into a comfortable silence as she sits slouched against the wall with Clarke’s shoulder pressed against hers, their fingers still intertwined. And what she wouldn’t give for more moments of tranquillity just like this one. But there’s something that still needs to be addressed, something she was sure Clarke would have brought up by now.

 “Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

“That wasn’t really your question, was it?” Lexa coaxes, tilting her head to look at Clarke.

“No,” Clarke says, teeth worrying her lower lip. “But I don’t want to cross a line.”

Lexa nods shallowly.“You’re talking about Costia?”

“I am,” Clarke says, dropping her gaze to the floor. “I know this must be difficult for you. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“Don’t be,” Lexa says, gently tilting Clarke’s chin up. “I want to make it absolutely clear that none of this, nothing we’ve planned tonight, has anything to do with Costia.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Not at all,” Lexa promises. “This isn’t some sort of revenge plot.”

“But you loved her,” Clarke half whispers.

Lexa sighs. “I did. But she’s a part of the past and ultimately I realised I gave my heart to someone who didn’t deserve it. But that’s the thing about falling for someone, about falling in love. It’s something beyond your control, something you don’t have a choice in. It just...happens,” she says, casting a meaningful look at Clarke. “Often when you least expect it.”  

And in that moment when Clarke looks at her, expression unreadable, she wishes she knew what the rules were. She wishes she knew what they were to each other. She wishes she knew whether it would be ok kiss Clarke like she so desperately wants to.

It had seemed so easy this morning when they were wrapped up in bed together, all soft moans and wandering hands. But now, presented with the opportunity to discussing how she truly feels, she finds herself choking. How can she, when she’s literally had her head between Clarke’s legs, be too afraid to lean over and kiss her? It’s ridiculous.

There’s a war waging between her head and her heart and she may well burst with all the unspoken confessions on the tip of her tongue. All of which sound suspiciously close to that four letter word that begins with an L.

She never wanted this. She never asked for it. She never intended for this to happen.

But then isn’t she proving her very own point? You can’t control who you fall for and this, this right here, is her moment of clarity.

She’s falling for Clarke Griffin. Helplessly so.

 “We’ve come full circle you know,” Clarke says, pulling her away from her inner turmoil.

“How do you mean?”

"Well this is where I first kissed you.”

Lexa frowns at her. “I think you’ll find  _I_  kissed  _you_ ,” she counters.

“Barely,” Clarke scoffs. “A peck on the lips can hardly be considered a kiss.”

“I was nervous!” Lexa protests.

“Well are you nervous now?”

“No.”

Lie. Total lie.

“Oh yeah?” Clarke says, eyes flitting down to Lexa’s lips as she inches closer. “Prove it.”

Its provocative but god knows she doesn’t need asking twice, cupping Clarke’s face in her hands and kissing her soundly.

It’s an unparalleled feeling, the soft press of Clarke’s lips as they melt into the kiss. Everything about it is perfect from the way Clarke gently grazes her teeth across her lower lip to the low moan she releases when Lexa’s tongue slides against her own. Clarke kisses back just as enthusiastically, hands wrapping around Lexa’s waist and pulling her closer until they’ve eliminated all space between them.

She decides that if she can’t bring herself to verbally tell Clarke how she feels, then maybe she can show her. She pulls back, ghosting her mouth over Clarke’s before leaning in to capture swollen lips once again, trying her best to pour all her emotion into the kiss. It’s delicate, tentative even, the way she slowly kisses Clarke, her hands trembling as her thumbs trace the line of Clarke’s jaw.

When she reluctantly pulls away, Clarke chases her lips, eyes remaining closed for a long moment. When they open again she’s looking at Lexa with the same unreadable expression as before, the brilliant blue of her irises reduced to nothing more than a small sliver.

“Wow,” Clarke breathes out, smiling as she leans her forehead against Lexa’s. "That was..."

“I know,” Lexa whispers, smiling right back at her.

 And as they sit there, breath mingling together as they try to pull in enough air to sate their burning lungs, she can’t help but feel as though something between them has shifted tonight. It’s something unspoken yet tangible. Something they both feel but don’t know quite how to put into words. The prospect of what it could mean causes her heart to pound furiously in her chest.

“Lexa, there’s something I need to tell you,” Clarke says. The shake in her voice is evident. "But I'm not sure how to say it."

“You can tell me anything, you know that” Lexa murmurs, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Clarke’s ear. “What is it?”

“I-I just," Clarke falters, biting her lower lip. "This is all happening so fast...you're probably gonna think I'm crazy but it feels right... so I need you to know-" 

“Clarke! We’re getting a cab,” Raven yells from just behind the door, causing them to jump apart. “Stop making out with Lexa and get your ass inside or we’re leaving without you.”

And just like that the moment is gone. Whatever Clarke had been about to say dies on her lips as she swears under her breath and gets to her feet. She stands too, shoving her hands in her pockets somewhat awkwardly, unsure of what to do with herself. She wonders if Clarke’s mind is reeling the same way hers is. If the blonde's heart is beating quite so erratically. 

“I’d better go,” Clarke says. A beat passes. “Sorry for my friends and their horrible timing.”

Lexa chuckles. “It is pretty horrible,” she agrees, glancing at her watch. “But it’s getting late. You should probably get some sleep.”

“I probably should.  _Someone_  kept me up late last night,” Clarke teases, walking towards the door. “And then the same thing happened this morning, come to think of it.”

Lexa feels the blush burning her cheeks. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“And you probably never will,” Clarke counters, already stepping through the doorway. “Though I guess we’ll have to repeat the experience just to be sure.”

With a parting wink, Clarke disappears back into the bar. The door rattles shut behind her, leaving Lexa alone in the alleyway to pick her jaw up off the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - Please let me know if you liked the chapter :D  
> There might be a bit of a wait for the next chapter as July is crazy-busy for me :(  
> Next time: Clarke and Lexa go off script in a big way.


	19. Curtain Call (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you and thank you a third time for your kind comments and kudos.  
> And thanks for sticking with this story!  
> So I actually split this chapter into two otherwise it would have been far too long.  
> I hope you enjoy it!

Clarke POV

 

Thursday is the worst day of the week.

It’s a statement she’s firmly stood by ever since she graduated from college and started working the 9-5 nearly four years ago. The reasoning behind it is solid. Thursdays always feel more drawn out because the weekend is in sight but still far away enough to seem distant. They don’t carry the same sense of relief that walking into the office on a Friday brings, knowing that in eight short hours you’ll be free for two glorious days.

This Thursday is sadly no exception.

Only this time it’s not just because it’s been a long day at the office. Granted, it had been; mostly because she’d barely seen Lexa today. They’d agreed to keep their distance to add another dimension of believability to the plan. It’s impossible to tell who might be watching their every move and if she’s spending an unusual amount of time in her boss’s office...well, then that might detract from the facade that she’s unhappy at Trikru.

And although not spending time with Lexa has been a factor of this arduous day, it’s not the most difficult part about it. The most difficult part about it is currently in progress as Abby Griffin continues to ask a litany of questions on the other end of the phone. Questions that she does not have the desired answers to.

“Well have you at least picked out a dress yet?”

“No Mom, I haven’t had time. I told you work has been crazy.”

“The wedding is in six weeks, Clarke,” Abbey says, exasperation evident in her tone. “I know you weren’t keen on the idea of me getting married to start with but I thought we’d moved past all that? I thought you would have put this higher on your list of priorities.”

She holds the phone away from her ear for a second and sighs quietly.

That uncomfortable heavy feeling in her chest can only be guilt. Since she patched things up with her Mom they still haven’t spoken much but her excuse isn’t just an excuse, it’s the truth. Work _has_ been crazy; even more so these past couple of days with her lending a hand to her colleagues wherever she can. Through it all she’s been feeling very fortunate that she still has her sketchbook full of logo designs – the rest of the team weren’t quite so lucky and have had to start from scratch.

“It _is_ high on my list of priorities but six weeks is plenty of time to find a dress,” Clarke counters, trying not to sound defensive. “I’ll go shopping with Raven and drag her around the Beverley Center until we find something amazing. I’ll even send you a photo for final approval.”

Truth be told, she’s warmed to the idea of the wedding. Hell, she’d even go as far as to say she’s excited about it. Because although no one could ever replace her father and what he meant to them both, Marcus is a great guy who loves her Mom dearly. He makes her happy. And really, isn’t that all that matters?

“Why don’t we do one better?” Abby says.

Clarke furrows her brow. “How do you mean?”

“Well I could visit you next weekend and we can pick out a dress together.”

She doesn’t answer for a long moment, her brain buzzing frantically with thoughts of how a visit from her mother could complicate things. There’s no telling what her situation will be in a week’s time due to the unpredictable nature of Lexa’s plan. For all she knows, she could be under the “employment” of Nia Queen by then and who knows what that will entail. Her mother’s timing is decidedly less than ideal.

“Look Clarke, if you don’t want to then that’s fine,” Abby sighs. “I just thought it would be nice to spend some time together as we’ve barely seen each other since-”

“Of course I want to!” Clarke blurts out. “I just spaced out for a second thinking about whether I needed to cancel any other plans. It’ll be great to spend the day together. I’m just sorry I’ve been so busy lately.”

She’s being genuine. Although she may have just agreed to do something which could potentially be counterproductive to the plan but she can’t bear to hear the disappointment in her mother’s voice. Plus it has been a long time since they’ve seen each other face to face and as much as they’ve had their ups and downs, she still loves and misses her Mom.

“Good, then its settled,” Abby says. Clarke can practically hear her smiling. “We can go shopping and I’ll take us out for dinner in the evening, my treat. I’ll make a reservation at Verlaine.”

“Yes! I love that place,” Clarke gushes, a smile stretching across her face. “Will you be staying here?”

“No, I’ll check myself into a hotel. I’ve seen enough of Raven’s domestic standards to know better than stay at your apartment by now.”

Clarke chuckles as she lies back on the couch.”Her cleaning regeime has actually improved since she started dating O. She never bothered before but now whenever Octavia’s coming over the leftover pizza boxes disappear and the trash gets taken out. Guess that’s the magic of the girlfriend effect.”

Abby laughs. “I always knew the two of them would end up getting together.”

“I think we all did, Mom. You could see that coming a mile away.”

“Well it’s good to hear they’re both happy,” Abby says. “Though speaking of relationships, you never did tell me who you’re bringing as your plus one to the wedding.”

Fuck.

She freezes, realising the trap she’s just walked into. _Stall,_ her brain screams. For the love of god, stall until you can come up with a decent excuse.

“Clarke?”

“Hmm?”

“I said, who are you bringing to the wedding? Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you dodged that question the last time we spoke.”

Double fuck.

“I err,” Clarke begins, desperately trying to think of a way around this. “I actually haven’t asked them yet.”

Good job, Griffin. It’s not like that won’t lead to more questions.

“You haven’t asked them yet?” Abby echoes incredulously. “Don’t you think you’re cutting it a bit fine? The wedding is only six-

“Six weeks away. I know,” Clarke says, covering her face with one hand. “It’s just that it’s still early days and I don’t want to scare her off by inviting her to a wedding full of my friends and family. It’d be like throwing her to the lions.”

“Clarke,” Abbey chides.

“Well it would,” Clarke insists. “I can’t subject Lexa to the craziness that is the Griffin family. You know how nosey they are. There’ll be a ton of questions and Great Aunt Mary will probably corner her to ramble about the best recipe for pumpkin pie for the millionth time.”

That and she still doesn’t _technically_ know if she’s dating Lexa. It certainly feels as though they’re heading that way though what they are to each other has yet to be defined. They should really talk about this sooner rather than-

 “So Lexa’s her name?” Abby questions, amusement lacing her tone. “Well if you’re so worried about her meeting the family then why don’t we soften the blow?”

Oh no.

“Invite her out to dinner with us next Saturday so she can at least meet me,” Abby continues. “Then meeting the rest of the family won’t seem so daunting.”

Fuck fuck fuck.

“I don’t know Mom, I-”

“Griffin, can I have one of your pop tarts?” Raven calls as she walks into the room. “O ate my last one and I don’t wanna go to the store so...oh sorry, didn’t realise you were on the phone. Wait, is that your Mom?”

She nods, glad for the temporary respite. All these extra seconds are time for her to think of a good reason why Lexa couldn’t possibly attend dinner next week. Maybe she-

Raven skips over to the couch and presses her face next to Clarke’s so she can talk into the speaker. “Hey, Momma G!”

“Hi Raven!” Abby says excitedly. Her voice is so loud that Clarke holds the phone away from her ear with a grimace. “What luck, you’re just the person I wanted to talk to. Clarke, put me on speakerphone.”

She does so with a reluctant huff, ignoring Raven’s smirk as she wordlessly places the phone on the coffee table. She wishes she could say this was a strange occurrence but Raven practically grew up in the Griffin household throughout her adolescence. Her best friend and her Mom are as thick as thieves.

“So what did you need me for?” Raven asks, throwing herself rather gracelessly on the couch next to Clarke. “Something wedding related? Not that I’m not _always_ happy to hear from my favourite member of the Griffin family.”

She flips Raven off and nudges the other woman with her foot for good measure which only earns her a smirk in return.

 “Nothing wedding related,” Abby’s voice rises from the speaker. “I was just wondering if you knew the woman Clarke is dating. Lexa?”

Clarke freezes for a second and then whips her head around at lightning speed. Raven stares at her, eyebrow arched in amusement as she mouths the word _dating?_ She shakes her head furiously, wide eyes silently pleading for Raven not to say anything. Too bad Raven never listens to her.

 “Sure I know Lexa,” Raven smirks. “We work together. Why do you ask?”

She makes a desperate grab for the phone but Raven in quicker, springing out of her seat and snatching up the phone in the blink of an eye. When she makes to follow, Raven darts around her and circles the couch to put some space between them, phone clutched tightly in her hand and a grin plastered across her face.

 “I told Clarke to invite her to dinner when I visit next Saturday. But you know how stubborn my daughter can be.”

Raven grins wider. “Don’t I ever.”

She lunges at Raven but misses her mark completely, only succeeding in winding herself slightly as she crashes face first into the couch.

“So I was hoping you could make sure she actually invites Lexa along,” Abby says. “Think you can help me out with that?”

“Raven don’t,” Clarke hisses, glaring up at her. “I’m warning you, I-”

“Oh I’d be glad to,” Raven trills. Clarke covers her face with her hands to muffle a wail. “I’ll let you know if Clarke tries to puss- I mean, wimp out of it. By the way Abby you should totally Google Lexa. Her name last name is Woods and she’s the badass business-”

Raven yelps in surprise as Clarke surges forward without warning and finally manages to seize the phone, tearing it from her best friend’s grasp. Her face is like thunder when she fixes Raven with a look that says ‘I’ll deal with you later.’

“Thank you Raven” Clarke grits out as politely as she can for the sake of her Mom’s ears. “I’ll take over from here. You’ve helped enough already.”

“You’re welcome,” Raven responds with a saucy wink. “Think I’ll go get that pop tart now. Bye Momma G. See you soon!”

She glares after Raven as she sashays off to the kitchen, silently cursing her for her sudden but inevitable betrayal. The verbal cursing will of course come after she’s finished this call with her Mom.

“Mom, you didn’t have to do that,” Clarke grumbles, taking the phone off speaker. “I would have asked her.”

“Clarke Abigail Griffin, are you forgetting I raised you?” Abby counters. “You think I don’t know when you’re trying to bluff your way out of something?”

And damn, her Mom has a point.

Clarke sighs. “Mom...”

“All I want is to be involved in your life,” Abby says softly. Damn her mother for playing the loving parent card. “You’re my daughter, I know you. You don’t open up to just anyone and if you considered inviting Lexa to the wedding...well then that must mean she’s someone pretty special to you. I’d like to meet her.”

Her teeth worry her lower lip as she thinks it over. It’s a big ask, inviting Lexa to dinner with her Mom when they haven’t even had “the talk” yet. But then again she had genuinely been entertaining the idea of asking Lexa to be her plus one to the wedding – she just thought she’d wait until the project was over first. Why does it always feel like she never has enough time these days?

“Fine, I’ll ask her,” Clarke relents. “Just please promise you won’t tell any embarrassing childhood stories about me if she turns up.”

“I promise nothing,” Abby teases. A beat passes. “I’d better get going anyway, Marcus will be home soon and we’re going out for dinner. I’ll see you next week, honey. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

She hangs up the call and sits in silence for a moment, head lowered and elbows resting on her knees as she thinks about what she’s just agreed to. Having dinner at a fancy restaurant whilst her Mom interrogates Lexa? A confrontation with Nia Queen is almost preferable.

Raven catches her periphery as she tries to sneak out of the room with the last strawberry frosted pop tart in hand. She clears her throat and Raven’s head shoots up like a deer caught in headlights.

“Now now Griffin,” Raven says hastily, still edging from the room. “There’s no need to overreact about this.”

“Oh I’m not overreacting,” Clarke shrugs, getting to her feet. “I’m not mad.”

Raven frowns. “You’re not?”

“No,” Clarke smiles sweetly, taking a step closer. “In fact, I’m going to be very calm about the way I shove that pop tart where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Raven hesitates for a second before she bolts completely, tearing down the hallway towards the safety of her room. Even with her injured leg, Raven is alarmingly fast. The bedroom slams shut just a few inches short of Clarke’s face before she can catch Raven.

She bangs on the door a couple of times, throwing a few of her more creative curse words at the barrier of solid pine only to be met with loud cackling from within. Raven Reyes is simultaneously the best and worst friend she’s ever had.

 

 

 /////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

It’s not until she’s lying in bed later that night that the full responsibility of what the next few weeks will entail hits her. The text she’d sent to Lexa a few minutes ago has gone unanswered but she reasons that’s down to the lateness of the hour more than anything else. Most people are in bed prior to midnight when they have work in the morning. But then most people wouldn’t find themselves in the bizarre situation she’s put herself in.

Tomorrow, by and large, should be fine. All she has to do is _sound_ convincing which merely involves saying the right things to Lexa at the right time. There will be no one watching to critique her performance – success rests solely on believability of their verbal interactions. It should be a cake walk.

The difficult part comes after.

When Lexa had pointed this out at The Dropship the other night, she’d brushed it off with an air of bravado, insisting that she would be more than capable of pulling off the second stage of the plan. She wishes she still felt as confident now, because the thought of having to lie to Nia’s face and continue the pretence is nothing short of terrifying.

If she fucks this up it won’t just be her head on the chopping block, it’ll be Lexa’s too. Everything is dependent on her ability to deceive Nia and gather the damning evidence they need to bring her down. In theory, it sounds straightforward but she suspects the practice will be considerably more complicated.

One wrong move, one careless mistake, one small slip and the jig will be up. And Nia Queen definitely does not seem like the kind of person she wants to cross.

She reaches over to her bedside table and picks up her father’s watch, the pads of her fingers blindly tracing the inscription on the back. The stillness of the apartment is at odds with her mind as it races with a thousand different scenarios of how this could all go catastrophically wrong. Clutching the watch to her chest, she lets out a heavy sigh and stares blankly up at the ceiling.

She wonders whether Lexa ever feels like this. Overwhelmed. Nervous. Afraid. Or perhaps Lexa’s so accustomed to acting for the greater good, so used to people depending on her and looking to her to lead that she’s no longer affected by such emotions. It seems unlikely. The weight of responsibility, so she’s learning, is not pleasant.

The sound of her phone buzzing on the bedside table pulls her from her thoughts. Her stomach swoops as she takes in the name on the screen and hurriedly enters the pass code.

**00:12 Lexa Woods:** Still awake?

She doesn’t hesitate in tapping out a reply, subconsciously smiling as she does so.

**00:12 Clarke Griffin:** Yeah. I can’t sleep.

**00:13 Lexa Woods:** I find closing your eyes generally helps.

She chuckles and shakes her head at the sarcastic reply. There was a time when she never would have thought Lexa capable of possessing a sense of humour, let alone crack a joke. But the more she gets to know her, the more she realises that her first impression of Lexa could not have possibly been more wrong. .

It’s easy to write her off as Alexandria Woods; award winning business strategist and the very embodiment of professionalism. It’s the only version of herself that Lexa allows most of the world to see.

But underneath that there’s the real Lexa – the intriguing, compassionate, impossibly selfless woman concealed beneath the carefully constructed mask of detachment.  Now that she’s seen a little of Lexa’s true nature, she finds herself craving more. She wants to know everything about Lexa, however small or insignificant. What her dream job was when she was a kid, whether she prefers soy or beeswax candles, what her favourite Baskin and Robins flavour is. She wants it all.

There’s no doubt in her mind that she’s fallen for Lexa. It’s not something she has control over, nor does she want to. She only wishes she were brave enough to voice these feelings to Lexa and have them reciprocated. But that’s a risk. One she’d very nearly taken yesterday at The Dropship much to her own surprise.

**00:13 Lexa Woods:** Seriously though, what’s on your mind?

**00:14 Clarke Griffin:** Do you really need to ask?

**-Lexa Woods Calling-**

She very nearly drops her phone in surprise, taking a deep steadying breath before she accepts the call.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Lexa says softly. The sound of her voice is instantly calming. “Sorry for calling unannounced but I figured this would be easier than texting.”

“I’m glad you did,” Clarke answers almost instantly. She silently scolds herself for sounding so keen. “I mean I don’t think your pep talk would sound half as impassioned via text,” she jokes.

“Is that why you think I’m calling?”

“Isn’t it?”

Lexa chuckles quietly. “You don’t need a pep talk, Clarke. You’re going to be fine. More than fine.”

“Funny. This sounds a lot like the start of a pep talk,” Clarke teases.

“I’m just saying that we both know from experience that you can hold your own in an argument. Orchestrating a fake one should be easy.”

“Thanks, I...wait,” Clarke frowns. “Are you saying argumentative?”

“Aren’t you arguing with me right now?” Lexa counters. A beat passes before they both let out a snort of laughter. “Look, what I mean is you’re an intelligent woman and more than capable of thinking on your feet. I know it’s a lot of pressure and you’re probably nervous about tomorrow but that’s perfectly natural. Just remember that I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if I didn’t believe that you could.”

That last sentence leaves her speechless for a long moment. Lexa _believes_ in her. She wonders how it is that a few simple words can be the cause of this furious pounding in her chest.

“I _am_ nervous,” Clarke admits, teeth worrying her lower lip. “If I fuck this up-”

“In the highly unlikely event that happens, we’ll think of something else,” Lexa cuts her off. “This isn’t the be all and end all.”

It is and they both know it. If this goes tits up there’s no plan B, no contingency strategy. But if Lexa believes in her then she has to have confidence in herself. She can and _will_ pull this off.

“How are we even going to go about this?” Clarke asks, pushing the thought of failure from her mind. “Should we practice what we’re going to say to each other?”

“No, our interaction needs to be as natural as possible,” Lexa reasons. “If we come up with some sort of script then we run the risk of sounding rehearsed. Just keep it simple but put some conviction behind it. Remember how pissed off you were when we had that first argument in my office?”

“Because you were incredibly rude to me?” Clarke counters cheekily. “Yes, I remember.”

Lexa doesn’t take the bait. “Try to channel some of that.”

“So you want me to yell at you?”

“By all means. You’re playing the disgruntled employee and I’m playing the boss desperate for you not to quit. You want to give the impression that you’re frustrated with your working situation at Trikru and me personally.”

That shouldn’t be much of a stretch given that she actually is frustrated. Not with her job but at all the uncertainty and unspoken feelings between them. It’s no one’s fault. There’s been no appropriate time to properly process what’s happening. Plus it’s all happened so fast – the dynamic between them changing completely over the course of a mere three days.

She’s also wary of how a fake argument could very easily escalate into a real one. Pretending to be angry about something she’s genuinely conflicted over could be a recipe for disaster. She must remember to remain professional at all times. Maybe she should make that her mantra.

“Please don’t worry yourself, Clarke,” Lexa says, breaking the silence that had settled. “You can do this. It’s just me and you in that room. All we need to do is set up a charged back and forth argument. It’ll be easy.”

“Why because we’ve had enough practice?” Clarke jokes. Lexa laughs lightly. “And this whole thing with me wanting to leave because I’m finding it difficult to date you...do you want me to play that up?”

“Massively,” Lexa confirms. “If Nia hears I don’t want you to leave cause it’ll compromise the project, that’ll pique her interest. When she hears that I’m desperate not to let you leave for personal reasons then she’ll be tripping over herself to interfere. So be creative. Whatever you come up with, I’ll just react to it on the spot. That’s why it better if we don’t rehearse. Besides, plans don’t last long in battle.”

She fights off the urge to make a sarcastic comment about that last part. Now doesn't seem like the right time to poke fun at Lexa's flair for the dramatic. Especially when there might be a little bit of truth to it.

“So just to be clear, you’re giving me full creative licence with this?”

“I am. Just try not to say anything too personal or disparaging about my character.”

“I make no promises,” Clarke says as she tries to unsuccessfully stifle a yawn.

“You should try to get some rest,” Lexa tells her. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day for both of us.”

“You trying to say I need my beauty sleep?”

“No. You couldn’t be more beautiful.”

Damn. She’s grateful Lexa can’t see her blush because she’s certain even the tips of her ears are red.

“You’re a real charmer, Woods, you know that?”

“You make it easy, Griffin.” A beat passes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Lexa.”

She puts her phone on charge and rolls over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling once again. Lexa’s right, it should be easy. All they have to do is talk, argue, and then leave the conversation on a cliff-hanger that casts uncertainty on their fate together.

Like Lexa said, there’s nothing to worry about.

 

 

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

 

The start of the plan goes off without a hitch.

Hell, she might even go as far as to say she’s enjoying herself. Granted, that’s probably due in part to the way Octavia had executed her own performance in the break room just now; playing the part of concerned friend and colleague flawlessly while Clarke pretended to be torn over the decision she has to make. She suspects it’s because O spent Thursday evening getting tips from Raven, arguably the most dramatic person in LA, on what she should say to make her performance sound as genuine as possible.

Still, that’s the easiest part of all this over. Octavia’s helped her set the trap, now she and Lexa have to bait it and hope for the best.

As she nears the conference room where Lexa will be waiting, her nerves begin to build. This is it. There’s no backing out now. The curtain's coming up and she has to give the performance of a lifetime if they have any chance whatsoever of pulling this off.

When she reaches the door it’s open and she has a clear view of Lexa leaning over her laptop at the far end of the room, not yet aware of her presence. She pauses, taking the opportunity to just stare for a moment at the sharp angle of Lexa’s jaw and the long line of her neck, exposed in it’s entirely by the way she wears her hair in a simple twisted updo. Her mouth goes dry as her gaze trails over full lips pursed in the slightest of pouts, to the faint crease that’s formed on Lexa’s brow as she concentrates on her laptop screen.

Lexa is so incredibly beautiful. And she’s so incredibly in love with her.

She shakes her head and taking a calming breath, raps her knuckles against the door to announce her presence. Lexa looks up almost at once, vivid green eyes immediately find Clarke’s own. There’s a soft, encouraging smile waiting on Lexa’s lips just for her and she can’t help but smile back.

 It only lasts a second before Lexa slips on her mask of professionalism and schools her expression into something totally unreadable. She’s seen Lexa do this many times before; willing her features into submission so they don’t betray the emotion she feels. _This_ time she knows Lexa’s putting on an act but it’s a little unsettling how she can slip into it with relative ease. It’s the kind of thing that only comes with years of practice.

“Clarke,” Lexa says evenly. “Can I help you with something?”

She takes another deep breath, psyching herself up and slipping into character. This is a performance after all. It’s one that no one besides the two of them will ever see but its execution plays a pivotal role in the future of the company.

“Yes, actually,” Clarke says, taking a step further into the room. “I need to talk to you if you have a moment.”

“About the project?” Lexa questions. “Because unless it’s of vital importance I have a meeting scheduled in half an hour that I need to prepare for-”

“You can drop the act, Lexa” Clarke drawls, turning to close the door behind her. “Everyone else is busy taking advantage of the Krispy Kremes Harper brought in for her birthday. It’s just the two of us and given how _familiar_ we are with each other, I thought you’d be happy to see me,” she tacks on cockily.

Lexa’s eyes widen and really, she can’t tell if its genuine surprise at the direct approach she’s taking or whether Lexa is just that committed to her role. She allows herself to smirk briefly, sending a wink in Lexa’s direction before slipping back into character.

“I am. Always,” Lexa says. Clarke can see the bob of Lexa’s throat when she swallows from where she stands some 10 feet away “Happy to see you, that is. You _know_ how much I like spending time with you, but I just...” she falters, pausing for a moment. Clarke really has to admire the little details Lexa is putting into this. “The office is a work environment, Clarke. We have to be cautious.”

Clarke nods shallowly. “I know. With all this sneaking around it kind of feels like I’m living out a low budget version of Mr and Mrs Smith. Though I suppose its more Mrs and Mrs Smith in this scenario,” she jokes feebly.

Lexa doesn’t laugh. “Why do you look like you’re about to deliver some bad news?”

This is it, she thinks, teeth worrying her lower lip. No going back now. It’s time to pull out all the stops and fully commit to Lexa’s decidedly unconventional plan.

“Clarke?”

“Because I am,” Clarke admits, purposely adding strain to her voice. “Look there’s no easy way to tell you this but I’ve been thinking it over for the past week and I came here to tell you I’m handing in my resignation.”

Lexa leaves the appropriate amount of time to be considered a stunned silence before she responds. The faux- tense atmosphere they’ve created in the space of a few seconds is enough to make any reality TV show host envious.

“You can’t be serious?” Lexa challenges. “If this is another one of your badly timed jokes then I-”

“I’m not joking,” Clarke interrupts. “I wish I was, but the truth is I’ve been thinking about leaving Trikru for a while now. I mean I wasn’t exactly happy here before the project got derailed. Now with all the complications this past week, everything’s so intense that it just feels impossible for me to continue. It’s too much pressure.”

Lexa looks at her for a long moment, the flicker of a smile on her lips. Clearly she’s enjoying this act just as much as Clarke is. “Hmm. Go figure.”

“What?”

“Well in my line of work I’m rarely genuinely surprised by people’s actions anymore. But you managed it. Congratulations. I didn’t have you down as a coward.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

 “You’re living up to the definition aren’t you?” Lexa counters, casually rearranging the papers in front of her. “Abandoning your colleagues when they need you most?” A beat passes. Her gaze flickers up. “Abandoning _me_?”

And fuck, she knows this is all for show but Lexa is absolutely nailing those dramatic lines. But she’s never one to be outdone. It is so on!

Clarke scoffs. “This really isn’t about you, Lexa.”

“I might believe that if you could actually look me in the eye when you said it,” Lexa deadpans. “Come on, Clarke, you’re a terrible liar. And this,” she says, gesturing between them, “is absolutely ridiculous.”

“No its not,” Clarke protests indignantly. This acting stuff is easy. “We’re fighting a losing battle and you know it. There’s not enough time to turn this around to our advantage and win the bid. It’s too late, Lexa. It’s over.”

“Your colleagues don’t seem to think so,” Lexa retorts coolly. “I offered them all the chance to resign if they wanted to and none of them did. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

 “Yeah, it tells me you managed to dupe them all with your rousing speech,” Clarke says, her tone bitter. “Though you’d have thought the woman you were secretly fucking would have been the easiest to convince. Evidently your _technique_ needs a little work.”

There’s momentary joy to be had in the way Lexa’s eyebrows shoot towards her hairline. She grins openly as if to say _‘you’re not the only one with clever lines,_ ’ and Lexa has to bite back a smile of her own as she struggles not to break character. This is definitely one of the more bizarre scenarios she’s ever been in.

 “Ah. So that’s what this is truly about,” Lexa says flatly. “You’re hiding behind this frankly pathetic excuse that you think we’re going to fail when really this boils down to me and you? To us. You want to cut and run because you’re unhappy at the situation between us, it that it?”

Clarke doesn’t speak, just looks at Lexa with one eyebrow raised and a smirk on her lips, silently urging her to continue. They both know this is where it starts to get really juicy. This is the part that’ll have Nia rubbing her clammy hands together with malicious glee.

Lexa sighs heavily. “I know you’ve been finding this difficult, Clarke. I know you hate keeping us a secret but I’m your _boss_. I can’t be seen to be having a relationship with one of my employees whilst the project is in full swing – there would be all sorts of misconduct allegations.”

And false as this argument may be, that’s the truth.

If their relationship came to light and they lost the project, Lexa would come under intense scrutiny. There’d be accusations that she wasn’t focused enough, that she gave Clarke preferential treatment, the list goes on. It’s a huge gamble, exposing this to Nia but it only becomes a danger _if_ they lose. If they win then it makes no odds at all – the interdepartmental sex would just be mildly frowned upon and really, who gives a fuck about that?

“Don’t you think I know that?” Clarke scoffs. “You’re saying this like it’s all coincidental to me. You’re not the only one taking a risk. _You’re_ not the only one with something to lose if it all goes wrong. I’m in this just as deep as you are.”

“I know!”is Lexa’s frustrated reply. “I know,” she repeats, calmer. “But this can’t come as much of a surprise. We both knew what getting involved with each other would mean when we crossed that line. You were more than willing to cross it anyway. And so was I, despite my intuition telling me something like this would probably happen.”

“So this is all just one big regret for you, is that what you’re saying?”

Lexa doesn’t miss a beat when she says, “I don’t regret a single second of being with you.”

Her heart skips a beat and then works twice as fast to compensate.

“Neither do I,” Clarke admits, punctuating the pause that follows with a sigh for dramatic effect. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t carry on like this. All this sneaking around and being afraid we’re gonna be discovered at any moment is exhausting. I thought I could do this, but I can’t. It’s a mess and we were kidding ourselves thinking this was ever going to work between us. I should just leave now before this turns ugly. It’ll be better for both of us that way.”

“Clarke...”

“Look all you have to do is accept my notice and give us both the clean break we deserve. It shouldn’t even be too difficult to find a replacement for me on the project. There are plenty of people who would jump at the chance to take my place.”

Lexa mashes her lips together and drops her gaze to the floor. “I can’t do that,” she says looking up slowly from under lashes until green eyes lock with blue. Lexa’s gaze is so piercing that Clarke finds herself unable to look away. “I don’t want to let you go, Clarke. I need you. And if you think for a second that is purely for work related reasons then you don’t know me at all.”

And fuck, this is all constructed to sound convincing but she knows those words are true. Lexa _needs_ her. She told her so once before. Only this time she can’t answer with the reassuring “then I’m here for you,” as she’d like to.

The look Lexa’s giving her in this moment, raw and honest and full of conviction, leaves her reeling. She knew this would happen. Knew the lines between what’s real and fake would start to blur. _Remain professional_ , her brain commands, _stick to the plan and keep it simple._

“I don’t know what to think,” Clarke half whispers. “This, _us_ , all happened so fast and I have no idea what we’re doing. And whilst the sex is great,” she pauses to throw Lexa a sly smirk, hoping to bring some lightness back into the situation. “That isn’t enough. This whole thing between is completely confusing. We never even talked about what any of this means. I mean, fuck...I have no idea what I am to you.”

That’s definitely _not_ keeping it simple. The truth rarely is.  

Lexa takes another step towards her, narrowing the gap between them. “Then talk to me now,” she pleads softly. “It’s not too late. We can fix this. Please just help me understand what you want.”

Clarke sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What I _want_ is to know what the rules are, Lexa.”

Lexa is looking at her curiously now, uncertainty evident in her eyes. She’s hitting too close to home and these lines, these lines are blurring all the time. Acting. You're just acting, she tells herself. Remain professional. Stick to the plan. Remain pro-

“Look I’m scared, ok?” Clarke blurts out without meaning to. “I’m so fucking scared.”

Surprise flashes across Lexa’s face. “Of me?”

The question is asked so quietly, barely above a whisper, that she can’t be sure Lexa had spoken at all. She looks up into searching green eyes and swallows hard.

“Of the way you make me feel.”

Suddenly this just got too real. She’s going completely off script.

Simple and direct, that's what they agreed upon, not complex and emotional. Certainly they didn’t agree to tell the _truth_. Yet here she is, blindly ad-libbing her innermost thoughts under the guise of this plan whilst Lexa stands there with her face twisted in open confusion. 

 “I’ve let myself become too involved. What I’m feeling...it’s too much too fast,” Clarke says, swallowing hard. “It shouldn’t be like this. And I’m a fool because I don’t even know what I am to you. I mean, is this just sex? Am I some temporary fling until your contract in LA is over and you disappear back to New York?”

The look of hurt that flashes across Lexa’s face can’t be mistaken for anything other than genuine. “Clarke, this has _never_ been just about sex,” she says, looking and sounding completely affronted. “How could you even ask me that?”

 “Because I have no idea what you want!” Clarke exclaims, throwing her hands up. “You’re as impossible to read now as you were when we first met but for some reason I keep trying. I keep pushing. And I keep letting myself get pulled in time and again. God, it’s like you’ve got this fucking hold over me that I can’t seem to escape”

...is this still an act? She’s genuinely not sure anymore. These words all sound a lot like things she’s wanted to say for a while but has been too afraid to. It's too late to stop now. The confessions are pouring out of her like so much word vomit.

 She remembers the last time they argued like this. Lexa ended up fucking her on a desk. She silently wonders what will happen this time around. Probably nothing quite so thrilling with that ‘hidden’ audio device picking up every little detail.

Lexa runs her tongue over her teeth and sighs. “Do you think you’re alone in that? In feeling like this is all out of your control?” she challenges. “Clarke, you’re all I think about any more. I’ve spent so much time agonising over how tell you how I feel that I’m driving myself mad,” she pauses, sucking in a deep breath. “But now I know what it means. I kept trying to deny it to myself at first but I realised I can’t fight it. I don’t _want_ to fight it anymore.”

The warning siren is blaring in her head. Too real. This is all too real and she’s frozen; half of her wanting to leave and half of her wanting to stay and see this through.

“Lexa, stop. None of this matters now. I’ve made up my mind and I’m leaving so just let me go.”

“Clarke please just listen to me-”

“I don’t want to hear whatever ridiculous speech you have planned to try and convince me to stay. It’s too late for that.”

She turns to walk towards the door. This is supposed to be it; the grand finale. According to the plan, Lexa is supposed to make her an offer before she leaves – to beg her to take the weekend to consider her options before she makes her decision. Instead Lexa grabs her wrist and spins her back around so they’re face to face, mere inches apart.

Whatever retort she might have had in mind to keep this charade going never leaves her mouth. Because those emerald green eyes have always been captivating but now there’s something stirring in them that she’s never seen before. It’s an emotion she can’t quite place and as such she finds herself completely unable to look away.

 “Would you please just listen for once?” Lexa snaps in exasperation. “There is no speech so stop being stubborn for two goddamn seconds and let me say what I need to say.”

Clarke scoffs. “Me? _I’m_ stubborn? That’s rich coming from someone who’s the walking talking dictionary definition of the word.”

“Yes!” Lexa cries. “You are! You’ve been stubborn since day one,” she continues as Clarke rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “And headstrong. Not to mention persistent...at times to the extent of being completely infuriating-”

“Is this your way of trying to win me over?” Clarke deadpans. “With some diatribe highlighting my worst personality traits?” Because let me tell you, as _thrilling_ as hearing about my flaws, this really isn’t doing anything for me,” she snarks. “In fact why are you even telling me all this?”

Honestly, where is Lexa going with this? How is this at all relevant to-

“Because those are the things I love about you,” Lexa says.

Clarke blinks slowly in response, she’s not quite sure she heard that correctly. “What did you say?”

“All those things, they’re what make you unique. They’re not flaws,” Lexa continues, reaching out to clasp Clarke’s hands. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Clarke. You’re so passionate and brave and unreservedly determined to stand up for what you believe in despite what anyone else might think. I’ve never come across anyone who manages to be so fiercely unwavering in their convictions and at the same time, compassionate to a fault,” she says, gripping Clarke’s hands tighter.

Clarke swallows thickly. “Lexa...”

 “Just listen,” Lexa pleads. “Please just hear me out.”

Those impossibly expressive eyes are searching her own again and that one soft, imploring look is all it takes to knock the fight right out of her. Her protests die on her lips and she nods once, not sure she’s ready to hear whatever this is but wanting to anyway. It's almost too easy to forget they're still pretending.

“Before I met you I was cold. After Costia I was completely closed off from any notion of romantic feelings and that suited me just fine. If I didn’t open up, I could get hurt, right? It made sense. It was logical. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice and I had never really subscribed to the belief that I needed anyone else because my life was already pretty great.”

“I mean, I thought I had everything. A high-ranking job at a Fortune 500 company, an exquisite penthouse apartment and enough cash going into my account every month that I could afford to retire at 45 if I wanted to. I was comfortable. I was happy. At least that’s what I thought. But then I came back to LA and you burst into my life like some foul-mouthed whirlwind and turned all that on its head,” Lexa says with the faintest of smiles. The corners of Clarke’s mouth lift in reciprocation.

 “And at first I resented this insolent, annoying, _incredibly_ talented woman who seemed to challenge me at every turn. But the truth is, you changed my life, Clarke. I never thought I’d be capable of opening myself up to those kinds of feelings again, but in the space of a few short weeks you proved me wrong. You made me realise what I was missing. And I know we’ve barely scratched the surface here but I want more. I _need_ more. I want to learn everything there is to know about you.”

Her lip is trembling. Why is her lip trembling?

“Because you’re special, Clarke.” Lexa’s hands are shaking as much as her voice is. “And the thing I admire the most about you is that you’re completely heart over head. Every single time and you’ve never been apologetic about it. Not for a second. And that’s why I...”

Lexa pauses, teeth worrying her lower lip. Those few seconds of silence between them seem to stretch on forever until Lexa finally says, “That’s why you’re you.”

She releases the breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding and is unsure whether it’s down to relief or disappointment. Because fuck, for a second there she really thought Lexa was going to say it. For a moment she genuinely believed they were going to cross that line. That point of no return.

She steels herself and sucks in a deep breath, mentally reminding herself that this whole conversation has been an act. They each have their roles to play but staged or not, it’s hard not to be affected by those words. Lexa’s a hell of an actress, she’ll give her that. 

Clarke shakes her head and pulls her hands out of Lexa’s grasp, taking a few steps backwards. “Nothing you can say will make me change my mind about this. I told you it’s too late for that. I’m done with-”

“I’m trying to tell you that I love you!”  

Time stands still.

She stares, feeling her jaw drop and her mouth turn dry as the revelation hits her. Her heart stops dead in her chest only to restart again moments later, pounding at an alarming rate. The sound of her pulse rushing violently in her ears is so deafening, she’s sure Lexa can hear it too.

The face journey Lexa’s currently working through is a sight to behold, her expression slowly transitioning from fraught exasperation to flat-out shock. Lexa’s posture is rigid and she looks as though she may have forgotten how to breathe as she stands there, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as she struggles for an explanation.

It would be comical if it weren’t all so tragic.

Because she realises in that moment that this isn’t real. None of it has been. Those three words are the ones she'd been wanting to hear but not like this. In this setting it’s all just part of the act, part of Lexa’s grand plan to lure Nia in and then have Clarke take down her corrupt operation from the inside. But Lexa has gone too far with the charade and they both know it. Blurting out that line about love was a huge misstep.

Because now it seems as if the notion of Lexa loving her was farfetched enough to fit right in with all the other lies they’ve told these past few minutes. Except for her it’s very much a reality. She loves Lexa. And this, this feels like a punch to the gut.

Plus now its on her to get them out of this. How the hell is she supposed to do that? How is she supposed to respond to that statement in a way that won’t blow their cover?

She doesn’t realise she’s crying until she tastes the tears on her lips, bitter and salty. Lexa motions to move towards her, hands outstretched and features laced with concern. She shakes her head determinedly and takes a step back, clumsily wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. She keeps her gaze glued to the floor, unable to stand the sight of Lexa’s eyes on her any longer.

“Clarke, I-“

“Don’t,” Clarke mutters darkly. “I don’t want to hear it.”

She truly doesn’t. Doesn’t want to hear an apology or an explanation. This hurts enough as it is.

And it’s not just Lexa she’s upset with. She had to shoulder some of the blame for being such a fool. Hell, she said it herself earlier. This is all too much too soon. She's not sure what the acceptable timeframe is to fall in love with someone, there isn’t exactly a handbook for these matters, but she's pretty sure that five weeks is probably too quick. And she detested Lexa for two of those. Honestly, what the fuck was she thinking?

She doesn’t have a clue what to say. She also doesn’t realise she’s voiced that thought out loud until Lexa answers it.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Lexa offers. Her voice sounds small, weak compared to her usual confident tone. “Clarke, please don’t be rash about this. I know you have a lot to think about but please just promise me you’ll at least take the weekend to consider your options. Give me an answer on Monday. Even if you decide there’s no future for us, Trikru still needs you.”

Clarke still doesn’t look up when she mutters a low, “I’ll think about it.”

With that she turns on her heel and walks towards the door as fast as her legs will carry her, determined to fight off a fresh bout of tears. When she pushes down on the handle, she half expects Lexa to try and stop her again.

She doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the return of our good friend Angst™...be honest, who saw that coming?  
> Next chapter will be likely be mixed POV and will pick up straight after this one!  
> Please do let me know if you enjoyed the chaper and if you're one of those tumblr folk, I'm on there as toolateintheday  
> Thanks for reading!


	20. Curtain Call (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme start as I always do by thanking you all for you comments and kudos - they fuel me.  
> Sorry this chapter took so long - blame that kickass writer's block & depression combo.  
> Ngl I rewrote this three times but hopefully it's ok - I'm pretty pleased with the way it turned out.  
> I hope you enjoy it :)

This...has certainly escalated quickly.

Maybe this is like one of those out of body experiences people claim to have, she thinks bitterly. Because watching this verbal train wreck unfold bit by bit, it’s as if she’s separated from her physical body. None of it feels real.

Yet it is.

She knows it because of that heavy sinking feeling deep in her chest. She knows it because of the way her mouth goes dry and it hurts to swallow. She knows it because Clarke cannot even bring herself to look her in the eye right now.

“Clarke, please don’t be rash about this.”

The strain in her voice is noticeable despite her best efforts to remain stoic – to stay in _character_. The erratic beat of her heart and the light sheen of sweat forming on her forehead are proof that she’s not made of stone after all. She is arguably, however, dumb as a box of rocks for conducting herself in the way she just did and creating this tense atmosphere. The discomfort radiating from both of them is palpable.

“Even if you decide there’s no future for us, Trikru still needs you.”

The words taste like ash in her mouth. They shouldn’t. She knows they’re fabricated, she knows that everything they’ve said to each other in this room these past ten minutes has been an act; false and contrived for the sake of her master plan to draw Nia out.

Except if she’s being honest with herself, that’s not true, not by a long shot. Clarke might still be acting but _she_ certainly isn’t.

However blurting out a confession of that magnitude under these circumstances means she’s fucked up spectacularly. That much is obvious in the way she clasps her hands tightly in front of her to prevent them from shaking, desperately trying to claw back some composure. It’s even more obvious in the way Clarke pointedly avoids her gaze, cerulean eyes trained on the floor and expression unreadable. She’d give anything to know what Clarke is thinking.

Its impressive really, the effect that three little words can have. And by impressive she means scary. Utterly terrifying. Suffice to say, this is not the reaction she had been expecting.

The silence between them is heavy, weighted with all the explanations and clarity she wishes she could give to Clarke. Because although she hadn’t intended to say _that_ , although the words had tumbled from her lips without permission, it doesn’t make them any less true.

But she can’t. At least not right now. It’d blow the plan completely out of the water and ruin everything they’d worked towards these past few days, taking their one and only chance to expose Nia with it.

“I’ll think about it,” Clarke mutters. Then she turns her back and walks away.

This was supposed to be simple.

Her heart wrenches when Clarke pauses briefly before pushing down on the chrome handle. The low creak of the mechanism is jarring as it cuts through the stilted silence that’s settled over the room.

This is anything but simple.

Telling someone you love them for the first time in the middle of an argument is _not_ simple. Not even if it’s a fake argument. Not even if it’s a fake argument that’s been elaborately staged for the purpose of entrapment.

It’s horribly complicated.

Clarke walks away and Lexa lets her; pushing down to urge to reach out and stop her despite how desperately every cell in her body screams in protest. The door clicks closed and her shoulders slump in defeat.

Congratulations, idiot, she thinks bitterly. You truly played yourself here.

She hangs her head and squeezes her eyes closed, exhaling with a sigh. Anyone would think that with her years of experience she’d be more than capable of controlling her emotions in a high pressure situation. But when it comes to Clarke, keeping her emotions in check has never really been an option. And whilst she didn’t _plan_ to start waxing lyrical about how much she adores and admires Clarke, it was only going to end up one way.

She can’t say she never saw this coming. Hell, she fucking foreshadowed this herself with that overly dramatic line about plans not lasting long in battle. She replays the scene in her head and mentally kicks herself because this could have been so easily avoidable. But _no_ , she just had to let her emotions get the better of her and go off on a tangent with that impassioned speech.

Then there was the look on Clarke’s face when she’d uttered those words so carelessly. She can’t get it out of her head. That wide-eyed expression of muted shock is seared into her memory.

There had been a flicker of something else, too. Something she couldn’t put her finger on. It had flashed across Clarke’s face; there and gone in an instant before she had time to process it. Her stomach sinks with understanding and she curses the power of hindsight.

Its Desolation.

From Clarke’s point of view, it looks as though she fabricated the entire thing. From Clarke’s point of view, everything she said was part of the act. From Clarke’s point of view, she must seem like the biggest jerk in the world right about now.

Why the hell did she have to go and say that?

It’s a rhetorical question, of course. She knows why. It’s because she _does_ love Clarke, completely and unapologetically.

 All the signs are there; that weird little flip her stomach does when Clarke walks into the room, the way her heart skips a beat when Clarke says her name, the way her pulse races when Clarke gives her _that_ smile. Granted, she’s not the most eloquent of people when it comes to voicing her emotions but that speech had come straight from the heart. Every word of it was true.  

This is her light bulb moment. She needs to fix this. Now.

 There’s no other option. She cannot and _will_ _not_ let Clarke walk out of here without explaining herself. They haven’t come this far, haven’t risked this much and fought this hard to let this one lamentable lapse in judgement ruin them.

After all, from day one Clarke has pushed her buttons. It’s been Clarke who constantly challenges her at every turn, Clarke who implores her to open up and be honest with herself. Clarke doesn’t just test her carefully constructed emotional barriers, she fucking knocks them down and reduces them to rubble.

Well, Clarke’s about to get her wish; Lexa Woods is about to become an open book

Finally her body catches up with her brain and spurs her legs into motion. She wrenches open the door and makes her way down the corridor so fast her feet barely touch the ground, slowing to a brisk walk and catching her breath only when she reaches the main office.

She offers tight smiles and nods of acknowledgement as she passes her employees, head held high and shoulders back in that well practised stature for the sake of appearances. She may be emulating the picture of a poised and composed leader but this cool exterior is in sharp contrast to the way her heart beats wildly in her chest.

The workspace is a blur – the conversations of her employees are nothing more than static buzzing in her ears as she navigates her way past the rows of desks. All the while her eyes are searching for Clarke. It’s probably too late. She’s waited too long to go after her and if Clarke is sticking to the plan, she’ll be long gone by now-

She stops in her tracks. There she is. Out of the corner of her eye Clarke exits the workspace through the main doors, purposely striding in the direction of the elevators with her golden hair flowing behind her as she goes.

Her heart is in her throat as she watches Clarke disappear from view but she pauses for only a second longer before taking off in pursuit. She breaks into a jog as she reaches the double doors, no longer caring if she raises a few eyebrows along the way. There’s no way in hell she’s letting Clarke walk out of here without having resolved this.

When she pushes through, Clarke is facing away from her, back stiff and arms crossed as she waits for the elevator to reach fifth. She pauses on the spot, realising now that she’s here she has no idea of what to say. She as no plan for this. What she does have is a longing ache in her chest and a heart fit to burst with the love it holds for the woman before her.

“Clarke.”

Clarke flinches. She waits on baited breath but Clarke doesn’t turn around, ignoring her as she presses the already illuminated call button for the elevator again.

“Clarke,” Lexa repeats louder this time, throwing caution to the wind as she steps closer. “Clarke, wait.”

Clarke does turn around this time. When she does, Lexa’s beyond surprised to see a wide smile spread across the blonde’s face. She falters. It’s far from the reaction she’d been anticipating. Its...disarming to say the least.

“Hey,” Clarke greets brightly, craning her neck to see behind Lexa. There’s no one else besides them in the hall. “That was some good acting back there, huh?” she says, lowering her voice and throwing Lexa a sideways smirk. “I think we really pulled it off.”

Lexa exhales with a shake of her head. “Clarke.”

Honestly, is that the only word she knows how to say anymore?

“No really, that was some seriously impressive work from you,” Clarke continues, undeterred though she turns away from Lexa to face the elevator doors again. “I almost believed it myself. Five stars for that performance, Woods.”

So this is the way it’s going to be? Clarke’s going to disassociate and pretend like it’s no big deal, like the words Lexa said in that room meant nothing? Not a chance that’s going to work. Meryl Streep herself couldn’t pull off such a feat. She knows Clarke is going on the defensive to spare both their feelings but that’s not the way this works. If they don’t talk about this now it’ll be what ruins them.

She opens her mouth to say something, to say anything when the elevator chimes to announce its arrival. The metal doors slide open and she can’t say it doesn’t hurt when Clarke looks visibly relieved to be granted an escape route. When Clarke steps forward into the elevator, she reaches out for her on instinct.

“Clarke, would you just wait a second-”

“Wait for what?” Clarke hisses, pulling out of Lexa’s grasp as though burned.

There it is. There’s the reaction she’d been expecting.

“Can you please stop pretending you’re fine?” Lexa sighs.

 Clarke arches an eyebrow in response. “I’m not preten-”

 “You’re angry with me,” Lexa cuts her off. “And you have every right to be.”

Clarke seems to catch herself then, shaking her head and schooling her features back into the same smile as before. “Lexa, do I look angry to you?”

The question takes her off guard. Because honestly, no. Clarke doesn’t look angry, at not on first glance. But she knows Clarke, knows that smile on her lips doesn’t meet her eyes – there’s none of that familiar sparkle that she’s grown so accustomed to seeing. It’s completely fake.

Perhaps sensing her scrutiny, Clarke drops her gaze to the floor for a beat. When she looks up again it’s with her jaw set and a determined look on her face, all pretence completely gone.

“Look you’re gonna blow our cover if you do this where anyone could walk past and see us. Reel it in, ok?” Clarke says flatly. “We’ll talk later. I have to go.”

Clarke Griffin is stubborn until the last.

She’s not sure quite what compels her to step forward and push back the elevator doors as they begin to close but she does it regardless. Clarke looks completely incredulous when she does, mouth falling open and eyebrows shooting towards her hairline.

She swallows hard. Fuck it. She has to do this now or-

“Hold the elevator!”

The sudden interruption from behind startles her and she spins on her heel to see Harper McIntyre rushing towards them, struggling to keep her grip on the box of files she carries in her arms. The irritation she feels is sudden and irrational. Still, she’s annoyed all the same as she steps aside to let Harper pass.

“Thanks,” Harper says, setting the box down heavily. “I did _not_ wanna lug these files down the stairs all the way to legal.”

Clarke chuckles and Lexa smiles politely for the sake of convention, both of them pretending Harper hasn’t unwittingly interrupted a personal moment. Maybe this is their curse – being thwarted by other people’s bad timing whenever they need a moment alone. It seems to happen a hell of a lot.

“No problem,” Clarke shrugs. “Second floor?”

Harper nods. “Yes please.”

She watches mutely as Clarke presses the button for second and then the ground floor option for herself. Their eyes meet and she holds Clarke gaze for long seconds, losing herself in blue depths as she’s become so prone to doing. Her brow furrows when Clarke frowns at her and pointedly arches an eyebrow. Why is-

“Lexa?”

“What?!”

The question comes out harsher than she means as she turns to face Harper, annoyed at having been interrupted once again.

“I just asked if you were getting in?” Harper says cautiously, eyes flitting between Clarke and Lexa. “Sorry, it’s just I promised I’d get these files to Anya by 10 and she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Oh.

Its only then she realises that she’s still holding the door open, her body half in and half out of the elevator. She shakes her head and takes a step backwards, silently praying that her face doesn’t betray her and show the embarrassment she feels. There’s no need to add confining herself to an enclosed metal box to the list of things that are wrong with this scenario.

“No, by all means go ahead. To say Anya doesn’t like to be kept waiting may be the understatement of the century,” Lexa says dryly. “If she complains then feel free to implicate your boss for your tardiness. I’m sure she’ll give you a free pass on this occasion.”

Ugh, talking about herself in the third person. It’s a terrible attempt at humour but it seems to alleviate some of the tension and earns her a chuckle from Harper. Were the situation different, she’s sure Clarke would be rolling her eyes right now.

Except Clarke’s not looking at her at all.

The elevator chimes once again and she’s powerless but to stand back and watch as Clarke slides slowly out of view, the elevator doors closing with an unsettling sense of finality. She stands there, staring blankly ahead and listening to the whir of the mechanism as the elevator begins its descent.

Her mind starts buzzing again, offering up all the things she could and should have done instead of letting Clarke go with such animosity hanging between them.

Fuck it.

This isn’t how it plays out for them.

 

 

 

 

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

What is it exactly about Clarke Griffin that compels Lexa to make these reckless choices?

 It probably can’t possibly be narrowed down to just one thing, she thinks, as she stumbles on the third step from the bottom of the flight and very nearly kisses the concrete. That would certainly add to the absurdity of the situation, if she greeted Clarke with a shiny new black eye.

Clarke would probably roll her eyes and call her dramatic. Clarke’s probably going to do that anyway.

There are another four flights of stairs between her and the second floor and she hurtles down them with no regard for grace or safety. The delay caused by Harper getting off at second should afford her the enough time to intercept Clarke and do what she needs to do. Whatever that is.

Less than a minute later she bursts through the door and skids to a stop just short of the elevator as the bell chimes to announce its arrival. Mercifully there’s no one else waiting in the foyer. It’s fortunate, really, that she’d chosen to wear loafers today instead of heels. Attempting _that_ in anything other than a flat shoe would have certainly resulted in injury.

She hides behind an alcove and out of view, still trying to catch her breath as the elevator doors slide open and Harper steps out into the foyer. Trying to explain away how she didn't just run down six flights of stairs with a sweaty brow and flushed cheeks is not on her to do list. That's best avoided entirely.

It’s when bell chimes again that she makes her move, dashing from her hiding place and slipping between the doors just as they start to close.

Clarke visibly jumps in surprise. “Lexa, what are you-”

She acts purely on instinct. When the doors close behind her, she reaches for the emergency stop switch on the panel and presses it firmly. The elevator shudders to a stop and there’s just enough time to catch the look of pure confusion on Clarke’s face before they’re plunged into temporary darkness.

When the backup lighting flickers on a few seconds later, Clarke no longer looks confused. She looks pissed.

“Lexa, what the fuck?”

 “I’m sorry, Clarke,” Lexa begins. Her heart is pounding furiously. “But I couldn’t watch you walk out of here knowing how much I upset you earlier. I couldn’t let you go without explaining myself.”

“And you thought the best way to do that would be confining us both to the elevator?” Clarke scoffs, throwing her arms up in frustration. “Did you think some dramatic gesture was the way forward? I mean, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t really thinking,” Lexa admits. _You have that effect on me._

“Clearly,” Clarke deadpans. Then her face softens a little. “Did you happen to forget you’re claustrophobic too?”

For a split second, yes. Fear of hurting Clarke overpowers everything else apparently.

“I don’t care,” Lexa dismisses. “This is more important.”

“And what if you have a panic attack?” Clarke arches an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed. “You know you’re being a real-”

“Idiot,” Lexa cuts in. “I know. But this isn’t the most idiotic thing I’ve done today, not by a long shot.”

Clarke sighs heavily. “Why are you here, Lexa?”

“To try and fix this,” Lexa says, teeth worrying her lower lip. She can’t remember being this nervous in her life. “To try and fix _us_...if you’ll let me.”

She expects Clarke to interrupt her again, to dismiss her with one cutting remark or another. But Clarke doesn’t. Instead she tilts her head to the side expectantly, waiting for whatever explanation Lexa is building up to.

Lexa swallows hard. “I know things got a little intense in the conference room earlier but-

Clarke makes a noise of indignation.

“Okay, a _lot_ intense,” Lexa corrects, taking a step closer. “But I need you to know that I meant what I said. Every single word,” she says, locking eyes with Clarke. “It might have been the wrong time and the wrong place to say it but...I do love you, Clarke.” A beat passes. “How could I not?”

She can see the tremble of Clarke’s lower lip. She can hear the hitch of Clarke’s breath as the blonde steps forward to narrow the distance between them at the same time she does. Emboldened, she raises her hands to gently cradle Clarke’s face, thumbs grazing her cheekbones.

“I love you, Clarke Griffin,” Lexa says, her voice barely above a whisper. In the stillness of the elevator its amplified tenfold. “I just didn’t think the first time I said it would be as we were yelling at each other across the conference room. But then we’ve never really been by the book.”

Clarke chuckles softly, tears welling in her eyes. Her heart beats so hard she’s afraid it’ll burst out of her chest.

“And I couldn’t let you walk away thinking it was a mistake, or a lie. Because it isn’t. It couldn’t be. And I didn’t want to scare you if you weren't ready to hear it but-”

Clarke mercifully cuts off any further babbling with the gentle press of her lips. Her brain goes blank as she allows herself to sink into the kiss, knowing nothing but the familiar slide of Clarke’s mouth, warm and pliant against her own. The way they move together so effortlessly, it’s as if they’ve been doing this forever.

She knows in that moment that _this_ is what love should feel like.

“I love you too,” Clarke mumbles against her lips between kisses. “So fucking much.”

Lexa pulls back a little, eyes searching Clarke’s face. “Really?”

She can scarcely believe this is happening. She loves Clarke and Clarke loves her back. It doesn't quite feel real. 

“Yes,” Clarke grins, tongue between her teeth. “I love you, you idiot.”

Never mind, its real. 

She smiles and leans in to kiss Clarke again. It’s relaxed and languid, passionate but without the underlying urgency that runs through so many of their kisses.  It’s a kiss full of promise and hope and she doesn’t think anything has ever tasted quite as sweet.

The static buzz of the intercom coming to life has them jumping apart seconds later.

“This is Reyes. Everyone ok in there?”

She curses under her breath for the sudden interruption. What was she was saying earlier about everyone else’s unfortunate timing? Clarke arches an eyebrow as if to say “ _you did this_ ” and she finds herself blushing.

“We’re fine, Raven,” Clarke says into the intercom. “I hit the emergency stop by accident. Can you get us out?””

“Ah Griffin, I should have known. Wait, did you say _we_?” Raven questions, the smirk in her voice practically audible. “Who’s stuck in there with you this time? Surely not...”

“Can you just get us out please?” Clarke repeats impatiently, all but confirming Raven’s suspicions.

Raven’s laugh echoes around the elevator. “No fucking way! This is classic, are you guys going for round two or-”

“Just get us out of here,” Clarke snaps. “We’re stuck somewhere between first and second.”

“Are we talking floors or bases here?”

“Raven!”

“I can have you out in five minutes tops, just need to reboot the generator” Raven replies. “You know I bet if that elevator could talk it’d say-”

Fortunately they don’t find out what the elevator would say if it were sentient because Clarke terminates the conversation with a flustered “Thank you, Raven.”

“You have some interesting friends,” Lexa smirks, walking over to where Clarke stands.

“Don’t look so smug,” Clarke retorts, “She’s your friend now, too.”

Lexa chuckles, wrapping her arms around Clarke’s waist and pulling her closer. “So what do you wanna do for the next five minutes.”

Clarke bites on her lower lip and once again her heart does her the discourtesy of skipping a beat.

“I don’t know about you but I think a making up make-out session might be in order.”

Lexa hums in agreement as she dips her head to meet Clarke’s lips. “It’s as if you read my mind.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

When the elevator creaks to life ten minutes later (and she’s under no illusion Raven purposely took her time with that one) they spend the rest of the journey down stealing glances. To their credit, the pair of them look remarkably composed save for the slight flush upon their cheeks.

In keeping with their plan, Clarke exits the building alone. The way she stalks past the reception desk, fists clenched and head down, raises an eyebrow from Roma. The performance will make for some convincing viewing should Azgeda somehow have access to the building’s CCTV cameras. She doesn’t think it’s a possibility with Raven on top of their security but they aren’t taking any chances with this plan.

Clarke pushes through the door to the parking lot and Lexa watches her go with a smile. She feels lighter than she has in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - please let me know if you liked the chapter :)  
> Next time: "That guy's been staring at you for like five straight minutes?"  
> "Which guy?"  
> "The one at the bar. Resting bitch face, questionable facial hair...looks kinda like a pirate."
> 
> You can find me lurking on tumblr at toolateintheday


	21. An Indecent Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kudos and comments - I continue to feel blessed with the support for this fic.  
> So I know the updates from me haven't been as frequent but I'll try to get a new chapter out once per month :)  
> Anyway, this is a Clarke POV as she gets deeper into Lexa's plan.  
> Enjoy!

It’s comforting, Clarke thinks, that some things will never change.

 In life there are certainties. The sun will always rise in the East and set in the west. Fall turns the leaves from vibrant green to crisp golden brown every October. And Raven Reyes will forever continue to be direct and remain unapologetic about that fact. Not that the last one is particularly comforting at this exact time, on this particular day, in this upmarket bar in downtown LA.

“Spill it, Griffin,” Raven whisper-shouts, accidentally hip-checking Octavia as she slides into the booth. “Spare no details.”

 “Generally people start conversations with a polite greeting,” Clarke says dryly.

“Fuck being polite,” Raven dismisses, slapping her palm down on the table that divides them.

 The noise startles a passing server who very nearly drops a tray laden with drinks but Raven seems completely oblivious to the near incident she just caused.

Clarke’s sympathetic look and mouthed ‘sorry’ is answered with a dark scowl from the server as she stalks off. Great, looks like it’ll be a while before anyone takes their order. It’s a shame - she could really do with a drink to take the edge off.

“Eyes front and centre, Griffin,” Raven continues, snapping her fingers in front of Clarke’s face. “It’s been a long motherfucker of a day and honestly the anticipation, nay, the _anxiety_ of not knowing what’s gonna happen next has been _torture_. I assume you and Woods succeeded in your amateur theatrics due to your general lack of crying and despair right now,” she tacks on, gesticulating vaguely in Clarke’s direction

Yes, in a sentence, Raven Reyes is direct. She also has no business talking about theatrics when she’s one of the most dramatic, scratch that, _the_ most dramatic individual Clarke has ever come across.

“You’re awfully animated this evening,” Clarke notes, narrowing her eyes at Raven. “More than usual, I mean.”

“It’s because she’s been stress-eating her way through my candy stash all afternoon,” Octavia says, sparing her girlfriend a withering look. “Please just give us the run-down and put her out of her misery.”

Clarke arches an eyebrow. “Fine, I-wait, the whole stash?”

 “Pretty much all of it,” Octavia nods grimly as Clarke lets out a low whistle. “Though I managed to wrestle the Red Vines away from her before diabetes set in.”

“Oh come on, you’re exaggerating,” Raven scoffs. “Besides we’re not here to talk about-”

“Rae, you inhaled two family size bags of M&Ms and a box of junior mints,” Octavia deadpans. “Seriously, I probably gained a cavity by association. I felt like I was watching that scene where the chubby German kid goes to town on Willy Wonka’s chocolate river.”

 “Augustus Gloop?” Clarke intones, grinning widely.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Octavia nods, grinning herself now. “One more piece of candy and Indra would have been calling in the Oompa Loompas for backup.”

She lets out a snort of laughter which earns her a glare from Raven. That only makes her laugh harder. She’s enjoying this. It’s a rare moment when Raven Reyes is speechless. Typically her best friend is infallible; dispensing scathing comments and sarcastic retorts left right and centre, usually at Clarke’s own expense. How the tables have turned, she thinks smugly.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing, Griffin,” Raven drawls. “You’re forgetting we share an apartment.”

“So?”

“So,” Raven smirks, pointedly snaking her arm around Octavia’s shoulders. “I’m sure I can think of all sorts of _creative_ ways to work off those extra calories later.”

Aaaand just like that the tables are back in their default setting.

Mercifully their stalemate is vetoed by the arrival of a different server who stops by to take their drinks order, returning just a minute later with three ice cold beers. She slides the server a 20, raises the bottle to her lips and takes a long pull of beer. From across the table Raven and Octavia watch her like a couple of hawks, no doubt itching to begin their line of questioning just as soon as the server is out of earshot.

She’s proved correct seconds later.

“Anyway quit it with the suspense,” Raven says, passing a beer to Octavia and then taking one for herself. “Tell us what happened earlier. Did you and Commander Hearteyes pull it off or not?”

“We did,” Clarke confirms, pausing to take another sip of her drink. “Or at least I think we did. Guess we’ll find out how convincing it was soon enough. That’s why we’re here.”

“Ah. I knew there had to be a reason you wanted to drink _here_ instead of the Dropship,” Octavia says, tilting her bottle at Clarke with a smirk. “I mean you obviously haven’t chosen it for the atmosphere,” she tacks on lowly, eyeing their surroundings with distain. “This place fucking sucks.”

Octavia’s right. This place, as she so eloquently put it, does fucking suck. But that’s probably to be expected from an establishment called Crown; especially when it follows the eye-rolling and pretentious trend of single word bar names.

She turns her head and casts her gaze over the room, expecting to find they’re being watched. They’re not, of course. There’s nothing conspicuous about their little group. To the untrained eye they’re just three friends winding down after the working week in a bar teeming with a myriad of other people who had the same idea. They’re here to drink ridiculously overpriced beer like everyone else.

Except they’re not.

Octavia’s also correct about her motivations. She didn’t organise a meet-up in this specific bar rather than one of their usual haunts on a whim or because she felt like a change of scenery. Its no coincidence that she got here early and snagged them a booth that’s strategically positioned in full view of the main entrance so they can see who comes in and out. It’s also no coincidence that this bar just so happens to be the one closest to the Azgeda office. 

That’s because the setting for this seemingly innocuous catch-up between friends is an extension of Lexa’s plan.

 Their little argument might have been the opening number but the show isn’t over yet, not by a long shot. And that’s because strategy - looking at the bigger picture, playing the long game and anticipating your opponent’s next move, well, its Lexa’s forte.

 And god, she’s fucking brilliant at it.

The advantage is that Lexa knows her enemy; knows Nia will be watching their every move with keen interest. That still applies even if Nia isn’t physically present herself; a woman as devious as that is bound to have more lackeys and henchmen on her payroll just like the one who infiltrated Trikru.

So the fact that Clarke, playing the dual role of disgruntled employee and jaded lover, just so happens to be blowing off some steam at a bar deep in Azgeda territory is no accident.

Nia, conniving as she is, will surely approach Clarke whilst Lexa appears weak. They’ve simply facilitated that course of action and sped it up by putting Clarke right in the proverbial firing line. They are essentially waving a red flag in front of a bull - its too good an opportunity for Nia to ignore. Which is of course, exactly what they want.

It’s a subtle move – clever and understated, but then that’s Lexa Woods all over.

 “Ah so this is kind of like when farmers take their best livestock to the cattle market and parade them around that little enclosure?” Raven says, smiling wryly. “Except obviously we won’t really be selling you to your inevitable doom, it’ll just seem like we are.”

Clarke narrows her eyes. “I’d prefer I wasn’t the farmyard animal destined for slaughter in your analogy. But essentially yes,” she mutters.

“Cool,” Raven grins. A beat passes. “So what do we actually do?”

Clarke shrugs. “Nothing.”

“So the plan is just to sit here looking pretty until something happens?” Octavia frowns.

“The plan is to give Nia the opportunity to make a move,” Clarke corrects gently. “We’re just playing the waiting game.”

 “I hate the waiting game,” Raven grumbles.

She’s inclined to agree though she isn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. As Raven and Octavia fall into a conversation about which movies they’re going to binge watch on Netflix this weekend, her mind wanders.

So far she’s replayed today’s turn of events approximately 15 times in her head, committing the words and details to memory. Each time she’s smiling by the end without fail.

She loves Lexa, and Lexa loves her right back. It all seems too good to be true, too perfect to be real. And yet it is.

The only remotely negative aspect of this whole thing is the amount of time she’d spent fretting over what to do about her feelings for Lexa. Since the night of the fundraiser it had plagued her.

 She can pinpoint the exact moment it all changed. It was when Lexa, in a rare moment free of composure, had pinned her against the wall and kissed her with unbridled lust. It was, in a word, mindblowing. Sure, she’s had her share of spontaneous kisses but none of them ever came remotely close to what she felt in that moment.

Lexa set something ablaze within her.

There had been all those nights lying awake until the early hours since, tossing and turning as she wondered if it was too soon to say those three words. She needn’t have bothered because of course Lexa unwittingly one-upped her yet again.

She can’t help but wonder now if all that animosity they held for each other in the beginning was just repressed feelings. Possibly. Their journey certainly hasn’t been some saccharine fairytale type story littered with clichés. And it definitely wasn’t a case of love at first sight... but it was _something_.

Yes, there’s definitely _something_ about Lexa. There always has been, ever since that first day when Lexa rolled down her window on the highway and removed her sunglasses. She had found herself momentarily speechless, completely captivated for long seconds by eyes the colour of evergreen forests.

The thought of it now sends a pleasant shudder down her spine. She smiles to herself at the memory. There’s no way she could have known that day; no inclination of the effect that the beautiful, aggravating stranger would soon have on her life. Fate, as it turns out, has a peculiar sense of humour.

“Earth to Clarke Griffin,” Raven calls, snapping her fingers in front of Clarke’s face once again. “This is your spaceship calling, please get in.”

She throws Raven a glare that could stop traffic which pulls a grin from the other woman.

“Hey, don’t give me that look,” Raven protests, holding her hands up. “You’re the one staring into space and getting all googly-eyed thinking about your girlfriend.”

 “She’s not my girlf-”

She stops herself short when Raven cocks an eyebrow at her. She supposes Lexa is her girlfriend. _Technically_ they haven’t established their relationship status but seeing as they’ve skipped that step and declared their love for each other, its probably an nonissue.

“Rae leave her alone, she’s got enough on her mind,” Octavia chides, swatting her girlfriend on the arm when she pouts. “Here you go, Clarke,” she says, handing over a napkin.

Clarke accepts it, furrowing her brow. “Why do I-”

“For the drool,” Octavia grins.

“Very funny,” Clarke deadpans, wadding up the napkin and throwing it back.

 She should be satisfied when it hits Octavia straight between the eyes but the pair of them are laughing at her too much to notice. Her friends can be real dicks.

“So give us the gory details,” Raven says once she’s finished laughing. “Did you and Commander Hearteyes get busy in the elevator again?”

“Okay, one, keep your voice down,” Clarke retorts, casting a wary eye over their surroundings. “Two, your euphemisms for sex are terrible. And three, for there to be an ‘again’ there would have had to be a first time. Which there wasn’t.”

“You’re not denying it,” Raven smirks.

“We didn’t fuck in the elevator, ok?”

“Wait, why were you even in the elevator together?” Octavia questions. “I thought you were supposed to storm out of there alone?”

“I was but we...” Clarke falters. “It...there was a slight hiccup with the plan. Things...changed pretty suddenly.”

“Well what was it?” Raven questions, concern creeping into her features. “Is it something we should we worried about?”

“She told me she loved me.”

“Wow,” Raven chuckles. “Woods went full-on method acting with that one, huh?”

Clarke’s teeth worry her lower lip. “It wasn’t part of the act.”

“Oh.”

The silence that falls over the booth isn’t uncomfortable but it isn’t exactly comfortable either. As much as there are times when she wishes Raven and O would stop talking, right now isn’t one of them.

“Well?” Octavia presses.

Clarke shifts in her seat. “I told her I loved her back,” she says quietly, fingers toying with the label on her beer bottle absentmindedly. “Because I do. And I know it might seem ridiculous because it’s too soon but-”

“Fuck that,” Octavia cuts her off. Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously, fuck the idea of it being too soon. No one gets to decide that but you,” she clarifies. “This whole notion of when it’s acceptable to fall in love with someone, like it should have some sort of timeframe...is bullshit. I mean it’s called _falling_ for a reason, you can’t control your feelings. Don’t make excuses for being happy.”

“She’s right, Clarke. I mean it took me years to admit how I felt about this one,” Raven says, smiling as she squeezes Octavia’s hand. “But if you know, you know. Why wait?”

And this, this is why these two loveable idiots are her best friends. They’re never anything but honest. They have a knack for uncomplicating things. But most importantly, they love and encourage her unfailingly. 

“Thanks guys,” Clarke smiles, trying to hide her blush by taking a sip of her beer. “And I am. Happy, that is. I can’t really describe how she makes me feel...its intense, you know? But in the best kind of way.”

Both of them nod sagely as if they know exactly what she’s talking about. How the pair of them hid their feelings from each other for so long without going insane she’ll never know. Looking at them now she can’t imagine them ever being apart.

 “Speaking of intense, have you noticed the guy at the bar?” Raven asks.

She turns her head to look, eyes scanning the bar. There are at least eight men currently occupying the stools that surround it.

“Which guy?” Clarke mutters out of the corner of her mouth. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“The one that’s been staring at you for five minutes straight,” Raven says. “Resting bitch face, questionable facial hair...looks like he wouldn’t be out of place on the deck of the Black Pearl.”

Its then that she notices him. He’s tall, probably around six foot or so with shoulder length dark hair and a smattering of designer stubble that makes him look somehow groomed and unkempt at the same time.

She’s not sure how she didn’t notice him straight away; especially with that distinguishing curved scar running from his right eyebrow down to his cheek.

He’s looking directly at her, grey eyes steely and piercing. She looks away at once.

“Nice leering there, Griffin,” Raven’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Very subtle.”

“That’s rich coming from you, the person as subtle as a sledgehammer,” Clarke hisses. A beat passes. “What do you think he wants?”

“Oh he probably just wants to know your opinion on the North Korean missile crisis,” Raven drawls lazily.

Clarke blinks.

”He’s a guy in a bar,” Raven deadpans. “I assume he wants to get in your pants.”

Clarke flushes. “Why do you always think-”

“Guys, that’s Roan Queen.”

Both of them turn to look at Octavia wearing twin expressions of confusion.

“He’s Nia’s son,” Octavia continues, smirking at their obvious surprise.  “He’s also the VP at Azgeda but he’s been out of town on business for the past couple of months in Europe.”

Clarke comes to her senses. “How did you-”

“What, you thought I’d let you two have all the fun? You thought that while Rae got to work on some awesome secret spy gadget and you willing put yourself in danger that I’d be doing nothing?” Octavia questions amusedly. “I’ve been researching Azgeda and the Queen family like crazy.”

Octavia Blake lives up to her reputation as a dark horse once again.  

“Fuck,” Clarke breathes out. “I mean great work, O, but fuck. What do I do?”

“What you don’t do is freak out,” Raven says. “This is exactly why you brought us to this ostentatious hell hole in the first place. And now thanks to my gorgeous girlfriend and her gorgeous brain,” she pauses to give Octavia a longing look that would usually have Clarke gagging, “we have the advantage.”

Clarke nods. “You’re right. So you think I should go over there? Maybe flirt with him a little?”

“No that would be too direct,” Raven muses. “Especially since he knows you’ve been fucki-sleeping with Lexa. It’ll seem suspicious. On the flipside he’s unlikely to approach you when you’re sitting with us.”

“You could go to the bathroom and order us some more drinks from the bar on the way back,” Octavia suggests. “That puts you directly in front of him without it being obvious.”

And that, really, is the only logical option available to her.

“Ok,” Clarke says, sliding out of the booth. “I’ll do it. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Raven and Octavia say simultaneously.

She misses the concerned look her best friends share with each other as she walks away.

 

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

It turns out the bathrooms, in keeping with the rest of the theme at Crown, could use a serious makeover from someone with even a modicum of taste. Seriously, who ever heard of putting a water feature in the middle of a bathroom? A water feature that looks to be made of gold, no less. It’s just plain excessive.

The blue tinted lighting gives her reflection an unnaturally eerie glow as she grips the basin with both hands. This is the extent of her plan to psyche herself up; looking hard into the mirror and mentally repeating the words ‘you can do this.’

Admittedly, her plan is a little lacking.

What she really wants to do is call Lexa and ask her for advice. Even just the reassuring sound of Lexa’s voice would do wonders for her nerves right now. But she can’t. They agreed on radio silence. Besides, it’s far too risky to contact Lexa right now when she’s in the proverbial lion’s den.

No, she has to do this on her own.

She’s not surprised to find Roan looking directly at her from the bar when she emerges from the bathroom. Swallowing down her nerves, she makes a beeline for the bar, coming to a stop less than a meter away from where he’s sitting. It takes all of thirty seconds for the bartender to take her order and turn away again to make the drinks.

The whole time she feels Roan’s eyes on her though he doesn’t say a word. It’s entirely unsettling. Another minute passes and she can’t take it anymore.

“You know its rude to stare,” Clarke says, glancing at Roan out of the corner of her eye. It comes out more irritated than she intended. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

 “Actually my mother didn’t teach me much of anything to do with etiquette,” Roan says, his smirk bordering on smug. “At least nothing involving the art of charming beautiful women in bars. I learned that all on my own. How am I doing?”

“You could use some more practice,” Clarke says dryly, turning to face him.

 The slight way her lips curve up as though she’s amused by his brashness is entirely false, designed to spur him on. It works.

“Well I could buy you a drink and you could help me perfect my technique,” Roan suggests, leaning closer to her. “Who knows, maybe you could teach me a thing or two.”

Ugh, this guy is so smarmy it turns her stomach. There’s no way she can spend more than a couple of minutes in his presence without wanting to vomit directly on his very expensive looking shoes. She’s going to have to force his hand – give him the cold shoulder and hope he makes a move.

“As tempting as that sounds, I’m actually here with my friends,” Clarke says, jerking her thumb towards the booth where Raven and Octavia are watching eagerly. “So I’m gonna have to pass this time.”

“That’s a shame,” Roan shrugs. “So what’s the occasion?”

The odd question throws her.

“Occasion?”

Roan’s smirk widens. “Well this is a pretty upmarket place and you don’t look like you’re a regular,” he says, eyes sweeping over her outfit critically. “Its a very... _particular_ crowd. If you’re not a regular then you’re probably here as a one-off, just someone hoping to get a quick taste of the high life and rub shoulders with LA’s elite,” he pauses to take a sip or his drink. “So that’s why I thought there might be an occasion.”

What kind of self-entitled asshole...

Clarke’s eyes flash with anger. “Are you implying I’m not good enough for this place?”

“I’m merely pointing out that we don’t see many Trikru employees in here, Miss Griffin,” Roan retorts coolly. “Your salaries generally can’t accommodate it.”

She does her best impression of a particularly dense goldfish, mouth opening and closing mutely. Its _mostly_ for show. She’d been expecting Roan to know who she is, but she hadn’t expected him to be quite so direct.

“Don’t look so distressed, Clarke. Your name is probably the least impressive thing I know about you.”

And fuck if that isn’t a line straight out of some low budget spy movie.

“Well seeing as you know my name I think it’s only fair you should tell me yours.”

“I’m not here to discuss the intricacies of fairness.”

“What do you-”

“Let’s cut to the chase shall we?” Roan says, flashing his teeth in a wide smile. “My employer tells me you’re in the market for a new job. That things might not be so rosy working _under_ Lexa?”

She ignores the urge to rise to the obvious implication though it makes her blood boil, instead giving him her best sneer.

“And who might your employer be?” Clarke challenges, stare unwavering.

Roan stares at her for a moment before reaching into the breast pocket of his suit and pulling out a business card. He holds it out to her, the gold face of his Rolex catching in the low light as he does so. She reaches out to take the card, surprised when he doesn’t let go immediately.

“My employer is notoriously difficult to impress but it would appear that you've garnered her attention,” Roan smirks again before releasing the card. “You should know that the offer stands for a limited time only. Midnight, to be exact.”

“You know you sound like a bad facsimile of a Bond villain, right?” Clarke scathes.

Roan chuckles darkly. “Very funny. I was pre-warned about your obstinance before I came here.”

“Really?” Clarke offers flatly.

“Really,” Roan echoes before draining the last of his drink. “I’m pleased to say your reputation doesn’t compare to the real thing.”

She knows it’s not meant as a compliment, but she can’t help but feeling a spark of pride that she’s clearly left a lasting effect on Nia Queen. Still, that twisted woman has no idea of what’s about to come her way. She’s seen nothing yet.  

“Think about giving me a call, Miss Griffin,” Roan says, already walking away from her. “I can make it very worth your while.”

She watches him go, unmoving until he steps out into the street and the door closes behind him. Only then does she look down at the card still clutched in her hand, turning it over slowly.

It’s simple in design. There’s the instantly recognisable Azgeda Industries logo with ‘Roan Queen, Vice President’ beneath it. The only remarkable thing about the card is that in addition to the office contact number, there’s a cell number hand written beneath it.

She looks up, eyes landing on the clock above the bar. 20:02. Just under four hours before Roan’s offer, whatever the hell that might be, expires. Her heartbeat quickens in her chest as she stares back down at the card, wondering why it suddenly feels heavy in her hands.

 Now what?

 

 

/////////////////////////////////////////

 

The fact that Raven is spending the night at Octavia’s is a small blessing. Not that her best friend hadn’t offered to stay with her at their shared apartment for moral support after getting the scoop on her conversation with Roan.

She’d been insistent that she just needed some time alone to think about what she should do next. So here she is at close to 11pm, sitting on the couch with a glass of wine, turning Roan’s business card over in her hands yet again.

What she wants is reassurance; confirmation that she’s doing the right thing. There’s only one person she needs that from.

“Clarke?” Lexa picks upon the second ring. Her tone is laced with panic. “Are you ok? Did something go wrong with the plan?”

“Lexa I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Relax,” Clarke says, smiling when she hears the sigh of relief on the other end of  the line. “I know we agreed that we shouldn't talk until after I'd spoken with Nia but I just...I just had to speak to you.”

“Ah, so you just wanted to hear my voice, is that it?”

She can practically hear Lexa’s suggestive smirk through the phone. It only serves to widen her own smile.

“Are you flirting with me, Lexa Woods?”

“Nearly always.” A beat passes. “How did it go tonight?”

“Well I met Roan Queen. Interesting guy. You forgot to tell me what a charmer he is, by the way.”

“I didn’t realise he was back in town. What did he say to you?”

She gives Lexa the complete run down of her meeting with Roan, being sure not to omit any details. Lexa listens intently throughout, not interrupting or offering insight until she’s sure Clarke is finished. When Lexa does speak, the question she asks is far from what she'd been expecting.

“Are you ok, Clarke?”

“Yeah I’m fine. I should call him, right? See what he’s offering...it’s pretty much a direct route to Nia, he basically said that himself.”

Lexa sighs. “That’s not what I’m getting at. I mean are you ok with all of this? Because it’s not too late to back out-”

“Lexa, stop," Clarke says softly. "I know the risks, I know what I’m getting myself into and I know it could be potentially dangerous...but this is your plan and I trust you completely. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Lexa tells her. “And I would _never_ let anything bad happen to you. I’m just... I can’t help but be worried about you.”

“I know, baby.”

The term of endearment slips past her lips without her permission and she cringes for a moment wondering if it’s too much. Then she remembers they literally confessed their love in an elevator mere hours before. It’s definitely not too much.

“I’m with you every step of the way,” Lexa says. “You’ve got me. Anytime that it feels too much, just say the word.”

“Which word would that be?” Clarke teases lightly. “Are we deciding on a safe word now?”

“Do you have to turn everything into a joke?” Lexa huffs though the amusement in her voice is evident.

“Yes. Don’t pretend like you don’t love it.”

“I do, actually. It’s just one of the many things I love about you.”

And damn, that has her biting on her lip and trying to suppress the goofiest smile known to man. She’s relieved that Lexa can’t see her right now.

“Well, I should probably give the Heir of Azgada a call and secure a meeting with the Grand High Witch. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks, I’ll let you know how it goes. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. Oh, and Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Correction, _now_ she’s wearing the goofiest smile known to man.

“I love you too, Lex. Goodnight.”

She hangs up, still grinning like an idiot and just sits for a few moments, basking in the feeling. She can’t wait until all this is over and they can finally be together in the way they deserve. But for now, duty (unfortunately) calls.

 

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////

 

She waits until 11:58 to call Roan, deciding to make him sweat just a little because hey, he wouldn’t have approached her unless it was necessary. They both stand something to lose if she doesn’t cooperate.

“Miss Griffin,” Roan greets stiffly. “You’re cutting it fine.”

“What can I say, I like to live on the edge,” Clarke tells him.

She's not sure why she's being so glib about this. Apparently sarcasm is just her default setting in times of stress...or any other time.

“Then it bodes well for both of us that you’re interested in my employer’s offer.”

“Interested? No. Intrigued as to why your _mother_ is so interested in headhunting me? Maybe.”

“A word of advice, being coy isn’t going to work to your advantage. “ A beat passes. “Tomorrow. 660 7th Street at 10am. Do not be late.”

The line goes dead. She wonders, not for the first time tonight, just what she’s getting herself into.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please let me know if you enjoyed the chapter :)  
> Next time: Nia's back, back again, Nia's back, warn your friends.  
> As always I am on tumblr at toolateintheday


	22. Dangerous Liaisons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mixed POV  
> THINGS ARE HAPPENING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support, comments and kudos - I love ya!  
> We haven't had a long-ass mixed POV chapter for a while...so here's a long-ass mixed POV chapter for you.  
> There MIGHT be some smut somewhere just FYI.  
> I hope you enjoy - I really loved writing this chapter.
> 
> EDIT: Also, 3000 kudos? AHGDJSJVJV!!!

CLARKE POV

 

 

She’s so unprepared for what’s about to happen it’s unreal.

Looking at her reflection in the driver’s side mirror, she frowns. All the concealer in the world can’t cover the fact that she barely slept a wink last night. No amount of blusher is going to convince anyone that she’s sporting a natural healthy glow. And not even the largest cup of coffee Grounders had to offer is doing anything to perk her up.

No, that had been the second poor decision of the day. The caffeine had merely increased her heartbeat slightly whilst leaving her just as tired and cynical about the impending meeting with Nia as she had been previously.

The first poor decision had been her hurry to leave the apartment. Due to a combination of nerves and anxiety she’d climbed into her trusty old Toyota at 8am and headed towards Santa Monica. Despite allowing a generous window for LA’s infamous traffic and a leisurely stop for coffee, she’s still well ahead of schedule. 30 minutes ahead of schedule to be precise.

Now the only option is to wait. So she does, fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel in time with whatever song is playing over the radio. It does nothing to soothe her. She checks her phone for the umpteenth time and lets out a huff of frustration when the display confirms only two minutes have passed since she last looked.

The thing is, she’s never been particularly good at waiting. Patience is not one of her virtues. Her relationship with Lexa is a case in point. One day they’d decided they couldn’t be together until after the Polaris Project and the next...well, the next she got to check “sex in the office” off her to do list. And she does mean _to do_ in the vulgar sense. Raven would be so proud.

After what feels like forever, she finally steps out of the care. She pauses, contemplating the idea of leaving her phone in the glove compartment. Ultimately she decides against it; no one in 2017 goes anywhere without their phone so that’d be sure to raise eyebrows. Besides, any potentially incriminating information, including last night’s call to Lexa, has been deleted from the log.

She’s been thinking a lot about what kind of place 660 on 7th street could be. Because where do shady, reprehensible CEOs conduct their illicit dealings? She guesses maybe an abandoned garage or warehouse, somewhere suitably creepy and foreboding.

The last thing she expects 660 7th street to be is a diner.

A standard, run-of-the-mill, classic American diner complete with the trademark stainless steel siding and retro signage. She backtracks a few steps and looks at the number of the building to the left. There’s no mistake. The diner, or Annie’s Diner, as the currently unlit neon sign informs her, is definitely the right place.

Well, fuck. All her expectations just flew out the window.

When she steps inside her surprise only grows. Its as busy as one would expect on diner to be on a Saturday morning with nearly every booth occupied.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee hits her first, soon followed by the unmistakably sweet smell of pancakes cooking on the grill. Her stomach grumbles and she finds herself wondering if they really are the “Best pancakes on the West Coast” as the special’s board suggests.

Why the hell would Nia want to meet her in a place like this? What kind of game is she playi-

“Clarke Griffin?”

The sudden appearance of the waitress at her side makes her jump. She turns, casting the woman a curious look.

“Yes?”

The waitress smiles brightly. “Great, Miss Queen told me to keep an eye out for you. Would you care to follow me?”

Would she care to follow this woman into the belly of the beast? No, not really. But she does anyway, nodding before falling into step behind the waitress.

“Where are we going?” Clarke asks as they walk.

“Oh, Miss Queen has a private booth at the back,” the waitress says over her shoulder. “She doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

Of course, she thinks bitterly. Of course Nia has a private booth out of sight. It’s much easier to get away with murder when there are no witnesses.

They round the corner where the counter ends and there, in an isolated booth, sits Nia Queen. Nia looks just as she remembers right down to the menacing curl of her lip that’s set in a supercilious sneer. It’s unnerving the way cold, grey eyes bore into her yet she forces herself not to break eye contact despite the way her skin crawls.

To Nia’s right sits Ontari. That’s absolutely no surprise. The younger woman narrows her eyes, clearly trying to emulate her mother’s icy demeanour. She doesn’t come close to pulling it off.

What _does_ surprise her is that Roan is nowhere to be seen. And whilst she wasn’t especially hoping to be interrogated by all three members of the Queen family, she’d expected him to make an appearance.

“Ah Clarke, we’ve been expecting you,” Nia greets, teeth bared in what she probably imagines to be a smile. “Come join us. We have so _much_ to talk about.”

She hesitates for a fraction of a second before walking past the waitress and sliding into the booth. Nia throws her a knowing smirk but before she can speak the waitress cuts in.

“Can I bring you anything, Miss Queen?”

“The usual, Maria,” Nia answers, eyes flicking to the waitress before settling on Clarke again. “Anything for you, Clarke?”

She _hates_ the way Nia says her name.

“No.”

“Oh come now, I insist” Nia dismisses with a wave of her hand. “Whatever you order is on me but personally I’d recommend the stuffed French toast. The homemade compote is to die for.”

There’s something distinctly unnerving about Nia’s attempted niceties. The phrase “wolf in sheep’s clothing” springs to mind.

“I’m fine really, thank you,” Clarke grates out as politely as she can.

“Get her some coffee,” Ontari drawls, lips curling upwards when Clarke meets her gaze. “She looks like she needs it.”

Clarke longs to punch that stupid smirk off her face.

Instead she nods to the waitress in agreement and the woman takes off looking more than a little relieved to be doing so. Clarke kind of wishes she had the luxury of that option right now.

“So, here we are,” Nia says, folding her hands neatly on the table.

“Here we are,” Clarke echoes. Here in the snake pit.

No one says anything for long moments. Nia and Ontari stare at her from across the table and she stares right back, determined not to let them intimidate her. Inside she’s feeling far less brave than she appears, the simmering tension between the three of them putting her on edge.

 When Nia smiles in a fashion reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat she finally decides to bite the bullet.

“Are you going to tell me why I’m here?”

“I should imagine because you wanted to be, Clarke,” Nia says. “No one forced you to come here.”

“Roan said I’d garnered your attention, whatever that means,” Clarke shoots back, careful to keep her voice level. “Look, I don’t have time for games and I can’t imagine you do either. So why don’t you do us both a favour and cut the bullshit? Tell me what you want from me and be quick about it.”

Wow, when the hell did she get so brave? Trick question, she’s always been brave...or is it just part of having a low tolerance for fuckery? The two usually go hand in hand.

Nia’s lips quirk in amusement. “My son has a tendency to overcomplicate matters with his choice of words. I simply want to discuss a business proposition.”

Clarke scoffs.

“Is that really so difficult to believe?” Nia questions.

 “Well given that the last time I saw you, I ruined your very expensive looking dress with a fine vintage merlot, yes,” Clarke deadpans eyes boring into Nia’s. “I never did get that dry cleaning bill by the way,” she tacks on flippantly.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Ontari hisses.

Clarke smirks openly at the brunette. “You know, when I address the organ grinder, I don’t expect the monkey to speak.”

Onatri’s on her feet in a second, jaw clenched and palms flat on the table as she looms above her. She doesn’t flinch. Honestly, what is Onatri even here for? Is she supposed to be “the muscle” in this scenario? It’s laughable.

“Enough,” Ontari growls. “If you think that I won’t hesitate to-”

“You’ll do nothing without my instruction,” Nia says, sounding almost bored.  “Sit down child, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

She’s still smirking as Ontari sinks back into her seat, quietly delighted by the furious blush that spreads across the brunette’s cheeks. She could do this all day. Any and all verbal punches she can land on the pair of them serve as retribution for their behaviour towards Lexa. But she’s not here for petty one-ups and small victories. No, this is all about the bigger picture.

She holds Nia’s gaze as the waitress returns, setting their coffees down before retreating again.

 “You know, I admire your tenacity,” Nia says, pausing to take a sip of her coffee. “That’s part of the reason I approached you with this proposal in the first place.”

“Is that so?” Clarke counters coolly, sipping her own drink. She almost winces. It’s scalding. “Because you keep talking about this so called proposal but I’ve yet to hear it.”

She’s going to maintain this calm facade, burnt tongue notwithstanding.

Nia chuckles mirthlessly. “Don’t fret, Clarke, we’re getting to it. Although first I must request that you hand over your phone for the duration of our little chat,” she says, flashing an artificial smile. “A security precaution, I’m sure you understand.”

She suspects nothing about that _request_ is optional.

“Of course,” Clarke agrees, pulling her phone from her pocket and setting it on the table. “I’m just surprised you haven’t insisted on searching me for a wire.”

And well, that would be an awesome double bluff if she was actually wearing one. The unfortunate truth is that although Raven’s been working flat-out, she hasn’t finished perfecting the recording device. Though something tells her there will be an opportunity to use it yet.

“Frankly I don’t believe you’d be so foolish,” Nia say as she slides the phone over to Ontari. “Or reckless.”

Ontari picks up the phone with a look of distain and for a frightening second she thinks the woman will smash it against the formica tabletop out of pure spite. Ontari doesn’t, of course. She scrolls briefly though Clarke’s messages and call log before holding down the power button. With a smirk at Clarke and a nod to her mother, Ontari sets the phone down once again.

“So,” Nia drawls. “You’ve been having an affair with Lexa.”

Clarke arches an eyebrow. “Is that a question or a statement?”

She shifts a little in her seat, subtly allowing her body language to do the work or her. She has to play this with just the right balance of aloofness and surprise.

“It’s a fact.”

Clarke scoffs. “So you saw we were close at the fundraiser and guessed we were together? Congratulations,” she says dryly. “You’re a regular Nancy Drew.”

Nia smirks triumphantly. “You’ll remember that the last time we met I told you that nothing happens at Trikru without my knowledge. I don’t deal in guess-work.”

 “I recall the threat, yes,” Clarke shrugs.

 “I do not make threats, Clarke, only promises,” Nia tells her, still smirking. “Perhaps it would surprise you to learn that I know you’ve been hiding the nature of your relationship with Lexa for some time? A relationship, I might add, which is on its last legs.”

She stares at Nia hard. Actually, it’s more of a scowl seeing as she’s unable to keep her contempt for the woman from seeping into her performance . Nevertheless, Nia’s walked right into their trap and taken the bait.

“I also know that you tried to hand in your notice at Trikru,” Nia pauses, running her tongue across her teeth. “I can imagine that didn’t go down too well with Lexa. I hear _The Commander_ ,” she mocks, _“_ isn’t accustomed to people telling her no.”

She has to physically bite her tongue. Lexa’s a visionary, she wants to say – a compassionate leader who wants only the best possible outcome for her employees. The insinuation that Lexa’s some sort of autocrat is insulting. Nia’s infinitely more suited to that label herself.

“I’m flattered you’re taking such an interest in my private life,” Clarke scathes. “I didn’t realise you cared.”

Hmm. Sassing one of the most powerful women in the city? Perhaps not the best move.

 “We are all capable of empathy, are we not” Nia counters, the cruel smile she wears in complete juxtaposition to her words. “I can imagine this puts you in a difficult situation.”

“How so?”

“Well you can’t seriously think Lexa will let you walk away with no repercussions?”

“Do you mean from her or the project?”

“Both.”

Clarke narrows her eyes. “Why don’t you just come out and say whatever it is you’re angling at.”

“Very well. Winning is just as important to Lexa as it is to me,” Nia says. “The stakes are high and if Trikru lose the bid, which is more than likely, she’ll be need a scapegoat to protect her own reputation. Who better to blame than woman who abandoned her team at the eleventh hour? She’ll drag your name through the mud.”

She says nothing, content just to let Nia continue this diatribe in the hopes she’ll hang herself with her own rope.

“Then there’s the matter of a misplaced ID card that facilitated a security breach. Trikru are already on the ropes because of it, or so I hear.”

Clarke scowls. “I suppose _you_ wouldn’t know anything about that?”

She catches Ontari smirking in her periphery. The one saving grace of this conversation is that the youngest Queen has mostly stayed out of it thus far.

 “An unfortunate setback,” Nia says, pointedly ignoring the implication. “But I’m sure that by now Lexa’s worked out _who_ the card belonged to. Which means she’s either covering for them or waiting for the opportune moment to use that information against them.”

Clarke shakes her head. “Lexa wouldn’t do that.”

“You sound sure of that.”

“I am.”

“Why, because you’ve been sleeping together?”

“Because she loves me.”

The “rabbit caught in headlights” expression she adopts and that deliberate slip of the tongue have the desired effect. A beat passes and when Nia grins wickedly, Clarke knows she’s on the right track. Because _that_ was exactly what Nia wanted to hear. This fish is well and truly on the hook.

“Yes, I truly believe she does,” Nia drawls. “Its tragic really, seeing that the sentiment isn’t reciprocated by you.”

 Clarke’s eyes flash with anger. “What? How dare you assume I-”

 “You wouldn’t even have _entertained_ the notion of meeting me if it was,” Nia cuts her off sharply. “Go ahead, Clarke. Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re in love with her.”

 She says nothing, brow furrowed as she stares down into her coffee cup. Its then that Nia changes her approach.

“You sweet girl,” Nia says, releasing what she probably imagines is a sympathetic sigh. “You’re in way over your head. No one could blame you for wanting to get out. I certainly don’t. Allowing yourself to become romantically involved with a someone like Lexa could only end one way.”

She wants to laugh. Nia obviously thinks she’s gullible enough to fall for this act of faux kindness. What she doesn’t know is that Clarke Griffin has a flair for underhanded manipulation when the situation calls for it.

Right now the situation definitely calls for it.

“Look you’re right, ok?” Clarke huffs. “I made a mistake. I got involved when I shouldn’t have. I mean, in the beginning it was fun, I just...,” she pauses, sucking in a deep breath. “I just never thought it would be this intense. And the truth is I don’t want to leave but there’s no way I can carry on working for Lexa after this.”

“No,” Nia confirms. “But there are other opportunities available.”

Clarke furrows her brow.

“Allow me to be blunt, Clarke. I want you to work for me.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Ah, I was wondering what this was building up to. Let me guess...you want to offer me a rival position at Azgeda?”

“Not quite. I want you to help me bring Lexa down and thereby destroy Trikru’s slim chance of succeeding.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“I can assure you I am.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Clarke blurts. “I might not be in love with her but I’m sure as fuck not going to betray her.”

Nia doesn’t seem affected by her outburst. “And why not?” she questions. “You don’t owe her anything. Love or not, if you think for a second that someone like Lexa would put her _feelings_ before her career then you’re a fool.”

She opens her mouth to protest when Nia raises a palm to silence her.

“Let me tell you something about Lexa Woods. She’s relentlessly dedicated to her work, always has been,” Nia sneers. “What do you imagine will happen when Trikru’s bid inevitably fails? That she’ll stay in LA? That she’ll tell you she still loves you and that you should both give your relationship another chance because love conquers all?” she chuckles hollowly.

Clarke scowls.

“No, you know as well as I do that she’ll be on the first flight back to New York. And do you honestly think that she’ll spare you or your colleagues a single thought when Gustus welcomes her back with open arms and tells her he’s proud that she did the best she could with a bad situation? You’ll be nothing more than an unfortunate blip on her otherwise perfect record.”

Her teeth worry her lower lip and she drops her gaze to the table, counting to ten in her head to draw out the tension. Mentally, she’s doing cartwheels because this meeting has gone better than she could have hoped. All she has to do now is agree to whatever madness Nia suggests.

When she looks up again it’s to match Nia’s stare with a look of determination.

“I’m listening. What’s your plan?”

 

 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

She’s not entirely sure how to respond to what she just heard.

Prior to this meeting she had Nia down as many things; spiteful, malicious, cunning, various R-rated words consisting mostly of four of five letters. But dumb sure wasn’t one of them. Yet that’s what this plan is...truly and undeniably idiotic.

“That’s your plan?” Clarke speaks slowly as though addressing a small child. “You want me to swallow my pride and go running back to Lexa?”

“You can phrase it however you please but essentially, yes.”

“But how will I-”

“I don’t care. Make up some excuse about your personal life affecting your judgement...family problems or something,” Nia says with zero sense of irony. As though the Queens aren’t the dictionary definition of dysfunctional. “Tell her you want to continue the relationship and that you weren’t thinking clearly before. She’ll be so relieved that she won’t question it.”

“What’s the point of this?” Clarke retorts, playing totally dumb.

“To exploit her weakness for you,” Nia drawls. “Convince her you’re in love with her. For years I tried to work my way into her head but it transpires her heart is the most vulnerable target. When the time comes you’ll reveal that you don't love her and you never have - it was just a fling. She’ll be devastated she won’t be able to think straight, let alone address a committee of stakeholders.”

Clarke chuckles and shakes her head. “Let me guess...you want me to do that right before the final presentation next month?”

Nia only smirks in response.

“You know this sounds awfully familiar. Why could that be?” Clarke questions, scratching her chin in faux contemplation. “Oh wait, it’s because you’ve done this before,” she deadpans. “Do you really believe Lexa won’t see straight through this?”

“I believe Lexa is blinded by love,” Nia counters, throwing her a superior look. “And the similarity to my past plan is exactly why I _will_ succeed this time. Lexa would never expect me to try it again.”

Except that’s exactly what Lexa is expecting, Clarke thinks smugly. For the second time she wishes she was able to record their conversation because this might be as close to a confession as she’ll get.

Clarke shrugs. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Nia nods sagely. “Remember, lightning never strikes the same place twice.”

Urban myth. Yes it fucking does.

 “Right. So not to be rude but what’s in this for me?” Clarke asks, looking between Nia and Ontari. “Revenge is your motivation, not mine. Call me boring but I don’t get much of a kick out of breaking hearts and ruining lives.”

“Took you long enough to ask,” Ontari drawls, placing what looks like a business card in her mother’s open palm.

Clarke ignores the brunette’s comment but watches the exchange closely.

“You would of course be compensated,” Nia says, sliding the card across the tabletop towards Clarke.  “Generously so.”

She quirks an eyebrow and reaches out for the card. She’s unable to suppress the gasp that escapes her throat when Nia grips her hand unexpectedly.

“You should know, Clarke, that before you can accept this offer I have some conditions you must comply with,” Nia says. Clarke doesn’t fail to miss the warning in her tone. “Do I make myself clear?”

With wide eyes she nods feeling physically relieved as Nia releases her grip. When she turns over the card her eyes damn near bulge out of her head.

Two million dollars.

Holy fuck that’s a lot of money. She could work for the rest of her life and never make that amount. Nia must hate Lexa a hell of a lot. 

She should say something. Something that makes her sound nonchalant and clever.

“What will happen to my friends?”

Or not. Why she’s even asking about her friends in this _hypothetical_ situation is beyond her. Must be that stupid sense of loyalty kicking in.

“Excuse me?”

“If I agree to go along with your plan, what will happen to my friends?” Clarke presses. “If Trikru goes under my friends will lose their jobs. And if you think for one second that I’d betray them then you clearly don’t know me at all.”

“You friends will lose their jobs when Azgeda win anyway,” Ontari snaps. “You should be grateful that-”

Nia’s glare is enough to stop Onatri mid-sentence.

“Your loyalty is impressive, Clarke,” Nia says, regarding her with a curious look. “It has not escaped my notice that Miss Reyes and Miss Blake are talented individuals. They will be offered comfortable roles within Azgeda when this is over should they wish to accept. You have my word.”

Which means basically nothing.

Clarke nods. “Fine. So what are your conditions?”

Nia’s conditions are just as predictable and bond villain-esque as she suspected they would be.

 One, Clarke isn’t to speak of their deal to another living soul. Two, she’ll have to give regular progress reports to Nia whenever she is summoned. Three, if Trikru win the bid, she gets nothing.

“I’ll give you 10% of the total sum when, and _only_ when, I’m convinced you have Lexa back on side,” Nia says. “Consider it a taster. The rest will be paid on completion. Are you clear on the stipulations?”

“Crystal.”

“Then there’s just one more thing.”

 “Which is?”

“On the day of the presentation when you reveal to Lexa that you’re leaving, you are to tell her that you don’t love her and you never have. But you are not to implicate me in any way. I want that revelation to look like it came from you and you alone.”

Clarke blinks. “Why?”

The smirk Nia throws her this time is the cruellest one yet. “Because that will make it all the more devastating.”

Christ this woman is fucking deplorable. Why does Nia hate Lexa so much anyway? This attack and the whole business with Costia are incredibly personal and-

“This isn’t personal,” Nia says as though reading her mind. “This is business. In business you must take advantage of your enemy’s weakness and as I said earlier, Lexa’s is her heart. I don’t underestimate her. Lexa is truly brilliant at what she does, but you must understand that she has been a thorn in my side for a number of years. As long as she’s licking her wounds in New York, the path is clear for me to make Azgeda to great again.”

Ah, echoing the words of Donald Trump. As if she didn’t have reason to believe Nia was beyond redeemable before that.

“So Clarke,” Nia says, clasping her hands together. “You have until tomorrow evening to provide me with an answer or-”

“I’ll do it.”

Nia’s eyebrows shoot skywards and it may be the first genuine emotion Clarke’s seen from her today. She stares back, gaze unwavering as Nia quickly schools her features into a neutral expression.

“Perhaps I underestimated your scope for loyalty,”

“Is loyalty important when you’re a millionaire?” Clarke retorts, extending her hand without missing a beat. “You tell me.”

The smile Nia now wears turns her stomach.

“Very well,” Nia says, grasping her hand and shaking. “We have a deal.”

“We have a deal,” Clarke echoes. She withdraws her hand and gets to her feet, grabbing her phone from the table as she goes. “Well, it’s been a pleasure,” she says, lying through her teeth, “but if that’s everything, I think I’ll make my way to Lexa’s now. I have a relationship to salvage.”

Nia merely nods and she takes that as her cue to leave. It can’t come a second too soon and she feels a wave of relief as she turns to walk towards the exit.

“Oh and Clarke?”

Clarke pauses, looking back over her shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Remember we’ll be watching.”

She nods and resumes her exit thinking that the Queens have perhaps been watching too many gangster movies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lexa POV

 

 

The ache that builds in her biceps as she lowers her body to the floor and pushes back up again is strangely comforting. She counts off the push-ups in her head, working through a set of 20 before pausing briefly and starting again.

Working out has always been her go-to in times of stress. Its repetitive, calming, grounding – all the things she needs to feel right now.

That’s because she’s been thinking about Clarke ever she woke up at 4am (which is early even by her standards). Though ‘woke up’ might be too generous a term seeing as she hadn’t managed to get much rest. Her sleep was fitful; plagued by dreams of their plan going awry, of Nia exposing Clarke, of terrible scenarios that don’t bare thinking about.

Feeling mentally drained, she’d kept herself occupied with a number of menial tasks. After cleaning her apartment from top to bottom she’d rearranged the contents of the cupboards and then alphabetized her record collection.

She stops and sits back on her heels, wiping the sweat from her brow with one hand and grabbing her phone with the other. The screen tells her she’s been working out for almost an hour as its now past midday. It also tells her there are still no messages from Clarke.

She knew there wouldn’t be. Clarke could still be at her meeting with Nia. Or Nia could have taken Clarke’s phone, or-

She shakes her head as though to dislodge the thought and resumes her push-ups at an increased pace. Its of no use worrying about the possibilities when they’re countless.

Still, she can’t help but wonder how Clarke is faring in her task. Although they share many similarities, their approach to tackling adversity is one of the things that sets them apart.

Clarke is often quick to submit to her emotions and eager to throw herself into the thick of it, regardless of her own personal wellbeing. In contrast, Lexa chooses to remain stoic and has long since learned art of patience, of biding her time and allowing the pieces to fall into place.

In that respect they’re like chalk and cheese, which should make working together a total nightmare.

Except its quite the opposite. They have an incredible dynamic in spite of their differences, playing off each other’s strengths to reach one goal. Together they’re one hell of a power couple – a force to be reckoned with. Which is exactly why Nia Queen doesn’t stand a chance against their united front.

The sound of knocking at the front door interrupts her mid-set. She frowns as she climbs to her feet, wondering who it could be. The only visitor she ever has is Anya and her best friend never bothers knocking anymore now that she has an ‘emergency’ key.

Perhaps it’s the juicer she ordered last night. The one her brain had deemed a sensible purchase circa 2am when she awoke from another awful dream. God bless Amazon Prime and disposable income.

Only when she peers through the peephole it’s not the Amazon delivery guy. It’s Clarke.

Heart beating a little faster, she reaches from the handle and pulls the door open. Clarke’s smile is wide and instantaneous – the kind she can’t help but return as it awakens the butterflies in her stomach.

“Hi,” Clarke greets. Her eyes do an unashamedly slow sweep of Lexa’s body, lingering on the exposed skin between her yoga pants and sports bra.

“Hi.”

Further words escape her for the moment, so she’s content just to stand there grinning like an idiot. Clarke looks beautiful (she _always_ looks beautiful), wearing a simple floral summer dress that stops above her knees, her hair in loose curls framing her face. She’s convinced Clarke could wear a potato sack and still look absolutely breathtaking.

“So are you gonna let me in or not?” Clarke asks sweetly. That damn tongue between the teeth smile will be the death of Lexa.

“Sorry,” Lexa murmurs, stepping aside to let Clarke pass. “Please come in.”

There’s more than enough space between them so she knows it’s no accident when Clarke brushes against her as she passes. The contact, though brief and innocent enough, ripples through her like electricity and leaves her wanting more. God she’s so incredibly into this woman.

She turns with the intent of asking Clarke what she’s doing here but the words never leave her mouth. Speech is temporarily rendered impossible when Clarke crashes their lips together in a hungry kiss that has Lexa backing into the door, causing it to rattle in its frame.

She stalls for only a split second before kissing back just as enthusiastically, thoroughly enjoying the sensation of Clarke’s mouth sliding hot against her own. Her hands move to cup Clarke’s face, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. When her tongue dips into Clarke’s mouth and draws out an appreciative moan, she promises herself she will never _ever_ grow tired of this.

Determined as always, Clarke’s hands begin to wander the second they touch her skin, making their way from Lexa’s shoulders and sliding down to grip her hips. With a huff of impatience, Clarke tugs sharply and pulls Lexa closer until they’re flush against each other. There’s absolutely no space between them now but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

 The involuntary gasp she lets out when Clarke’s fingertips dance over the waistband of her yoga pants is rewarded by a playful bite to her lower lip. Immediately she has two thoughts. The first is of how embarrassingly wet she already is. The second is that if they don’t stop this right now, they won’t be able to stop at all. And thought tempting as it would be to let Clarke fuck her right here right now against the door, there are more pressing matters at hand.

Like the question of why Clarke is here in the first place when she almost definitely shouldn’t be.

With a gentle press of her palm against Clarke’s shoulder she breaks away from the kiss. Clarke’s eyes remain closed for a few seconds longer and a deep crease forms between her eyebrows as she registers the loss of contact.

Blue eyes fly open, searching as they meet her own in a silent question. She smiles and leans in to press a gentle kiss to Clarke’s lips before pulling back once again to create a little space between them. Not too much, though. Her right hand still cups the back of Clarke’s neck and her fingertips massage lazy patters into the soft skin at the nape.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?” Lexa asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not that you showing up at my door unannounced isn’t the best kind of surprise.”

“I could,” Clarke drawls. Her fingers flex their grip, thumbs grazing over Lexa’s hip bones in a gesture that can’t be mistaken for anything other than suggestive. “Or we could skip the talking for now and continue with the fun stuff first.”

It takes all the self control she possesses not to give in and just pick up where they left off a few seconds ago. But she needs to know what happened this morning – it’s the concern for Clarke’s safety more than her leader-like tendencies that force her to decline...for now at least.

“Clarke.”

“Fine,” Clarke huffs, reluctantly dropping her hands. “I suppose it’s _pretty_ important that I tell you what happened this morning. You know, seeing as our futures and livelihoods depend on it,” she tacks on dramatically.

A smile tugs at the corner of Lexa’s lips “It is.”

“But you have to promise me that this,” Clarke says, gesturing between the two of them, “continues the second we’re done talking.”

Lexa smiles fully this time. “You have my word.”

 

 

 

 

 

This is all very civilised. They’re sitting on the couch, two cups of steaming tea resting on the coffee table whilst they attempt to ignore the sexual tension still hanging heavy in the air. Honestly, caring is such a burden.

Ok, so she doesn’t mean that in the slightest but studies show it is significantly harder to concentrate when there’s a gorgeous woman sitting beside you. Especially when said gorgeous woman is Clarke Griffin and she’s longing to tear your clothes off. That’s just a fact. She doesn’t make the rules.  

“So you said you met her at a diner?”

“Yep. Some All-American type place over in Santa Monica. I have no idea why she picked that place to meet me, she doesn’t seem like the type of person to indulge in sugar-coated carbs and cheap coffee.”

“She’s not.”

“I know, right. I just kind of assumed she sustained herself on the fear and misery of her victims.”

Lexa lets out an undignified snort of laughter. “A theory I could get behind.”

“But the thing is, the waitress talked as if Nia was a regular.”

“It does seem a strange choice of venue,” Lexa agrees, frowning a little. “I’ll have Anya look into it on Monday, see if there’s some sort of connection there.”

A beat passes and she desperately tries to ignore the warmth of Clarke’s thigh from where it presses against her own. They need to get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible or she’s likely to spontaneously combust.

“So what was her magnificent offer?” Lexa asks. “I assume she asked you to perform underhand deeds in exchange for power and or money.”

Clarke smirks. “You’re on the right track.”

“Let me guess. Bring down the company from the inside and make me look incompetent in the process?” Lexa thinks aloud. “Or was it to publicly expose our relationship and have me painted as some sort of sexual predator?” she guesses, pausing to take a sip of her tea.

“Close. It was two million dollars to emotionally destroy you.”

She chokes on her tea.

“Two million?” Lexa echoes hoarsely. Clarke nods. “Wow. I feel quite flattered actually. I know she hates me, but to the tune of two million dollars? Fuck, that’s a lot of money.”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s quite the achievement,” Clarke grins. “You really got under her skin it would seem.”

Lexa shrugs. “I can’t help it that I’m good and my job and she isn’t.”

“And so modest too,” Clarke teases, poking her in the side. “However do you make it in this cut-throat business of advertising whilst being so humble?”

Lexa squirms, lightly batting Clarke’s hand away. “You’re to keep your hands to yourself Miss Griffin, remember?” she teases right back. Clarke pouts. “Now come on and let’s be serious for a minute. Tell me all about how Nia intends to ruin my life.”

She’s completely silent as Clarke talks her through the details of her meeting with Nia and Ontari, arms crosses over her chest as she listens intently. When Clarke finishes, Lexa remains still for long moments as she takes all of it in and processes how this will affect their own plan. Then she does something that surprises both of them.

She laughs.

She throws her head back and howls with laughter, allowing herself to collapse against the back cushions of the couch as tears form in her eyes. This is too good. It’s simply too fucking good.

“Are you ok?” Clarke asks, lips quirking in amusement. “You’re not having some sort of hysterical reaction are you?”

Lexa’s laughter tapers off and she shakes her head. “This,” she announces. “Is absolutely hilarious. I know I said she was conceited enough to try the same trick twice but I didn’t think she’d replicate the Costia plan pretty much play for play. Nia must be desperate,” she tacks on as an afterthought.

“She’s clutching at straws,” Clarke agrees. “But you should she’s added a pretty sinister condition to this plan.”

“Which is?”

“When I break up with you I’m not to implicate Azgeda or Nia in any way. If you question me about it, I’m supposed to deny their involvement and make it look as though leaving you is completely my choice. She thought that would devastate you.”

“It would,” Lexa says simply. “I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Clarke looks at her in a way that makes her heart skip a beat and she blushes immediately. It’s not fair that Clarke has this unique way of drawing these embarrassing sentiments out of her. Its not fair that her heart, and indeed her brain, have no filter where Clarke is concerned.

Lexa clears her throat. “Anyway, this plan is working out better than we could have hoped. Its a shame we didn’t get any of this recorded,” she sighs. “But I guess we can get all the evidence we need when she summons you in for a report.”

Clarke smiles “My thoughts exactly.”

“Can you believe she wants to pay you two million dollars to _pretend_ to be in love with me?” Lexa crows, grinning so hard her cheeks ache. “Its like she handed us a free pass to flaunt our relationship right in front of her. It’s fucking brilliant.”

 “It is,” Clarke drawls, grinning right back at her. “You know what this means don’t you?”

“Sweet poetic justice is being served?”

“Well, yeah,” Clarke agrees, taking Lexa’s hand in her own. “But I think this means we have a cause for celebration,” she says pointedly, guiding Lexa’s hand until it lies flat against her thigh. “Don’t you?”

She swallows hard, gazing down at her own hand before meeting blue eyes again. The smirk that plays at Clarke’s lips is almost taunting, as if she knows _exactly_ the kind of effect she has on Lexa. As if Clarke knows that one well placed touch, one meaningful look, is all it takes to have her caving in as she’s reminded of arousal pooling between her thighs.

When Clarke’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, she knows she’s done for.

There’s absolutely no preamble as she surges forward and connects their lips in a bruising kiss, any semblance of self control completely abandoned. She kisses Clarke deeply, capturing the blonde’s lower lip between her teeth and tugging. The satisfied hum it elicits in response sends a jolt straight to her core and her hands fly to Clarke’s hips of their own accord, gripping them tightly. Clarke’s hands weave their way into her hair and she marvels at how easy it is to lose herself in the sensation of Clarke’s lips moving against her own.

Never once breaking the kiss, Clarke allows herself to be guided forward until her knees are bracketing Lexa’s thighs. She’s already a throbbing mess by the time Clarke’s lips attach themselves to her neck and suck determinedly at her pulse point, teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh. The only sounds to be heard in the apartment are the soft moans that fall carelessly from her lips under Clarke’s ministrations.

Clarke grinds into her with a deliberately slow roll of her hips and she feels the heat from the blonde’s center against the bare skin of her stomach. The whimper that escapes Clarke’s throat at the contact causes something to snap within her and it becomes abundantly clear in that moment that they are incapable of slowing down. She wouldn’t be able to stop and move this to the bedroom even if she _wanted_ to.

The need is too great. She’s going to have Clarke on this couch, right here and right now.

 She silently thanks the inventor of summer dresses for their easy access as she slides her hand up the inside of Clarke’s thigh, roughly pushes her underwear aside and enters her with two fingers.

The moan that rips from Clarke’s throat is obscene, causing the hairs on the back on her neck stand on end. She doesn’t move her fingers until Clarke’s eyes, black with desire save for a sliver of blue, meet her own. Slowly Lexa moves, withdrawing her fingers nearly all the way before driving back into slick heat, deeper and harder this time.

“Fuck,” Clarke lets out a choked gasp, eyes slamming closed as she throws her head back. “Fuck. Oh god, don’t fucking stop.”

 Clarke’s hands blindly grip her shoulders and she welcomes the dull ache of blunt nails digging into her skin as Clarke’s hips work to find a rhythm that matches the pace of her fingers. When they find that perfect balance she adds a third digit, marveling at how Clarke stretches to accommodate her.Clarke moans like she can’t get enough of it.

Somehow through her laboured breathing Clarke finds a way to lean down and connect their mouths in a needy kiss, sloppy and desperate.  Lexa curls her fingers and eagerly swallows the resulting gasp when Clarke’s walls clench tightly around her. She doesn’t even try to hold back the moan that escapes her own throat when her hand is covered in a fresh coat of wetness.

She pulls back and stares, completely mesmerised by the way Clarke shivers above her as she grinds down onto her fingers, mouth slightly parted and eyes screwed shut in concentration. Though they're both still fully clothed, watching Clarke ride her fingers with such raw determination is one of the most erotic experiences of her life.

Clarke’s movements become increasingly frantic as she chases her release, hips canting desperately. When Lexa just barely brushes the pad of her thumb across the sensitive bundle of nerves, Clarke’s breathy moans turn into full-on whines of need.

The angle is a little awkward and her wrist is beginning to cramp but she ignores it completely, never once altering the pace of her fingers as they pump in and out relentlessly. The combination of curled fingers stroking against her front wall and a thumb pressed firmly against her clit is what it takes for Clarke to fall apart.

Clarke’s back arches, her body going completely rigid for a few glorious seconds before she careers over the edge. She comes with Lexa’s name on her lips, reciting it over and over like a prayer. Lexa herself is completely in awe, mouth slack as she feels Clarke’s walls convulse around her, thighs shaking and hips jerking as she rides out her orgasm.

She doesn’t stop right away, instead slowing her movements down and allowing the strokes to become shallower before she withdraws. Clarke collapses against her, forehead resting on the crook Lexa’s shoulder, breathing hot and erratic against her skin.

After long minutes Clarke pulls back, looking at Lexa slightly misty eyed. She smiles as Clarke’s fingers brush delicately over her cheekbones, push back the errant hairs for her forehead, gently trace the outline of her lips. The unbelievable amount of care in these small gestures makes her head swim.

“You’re so beautiful,” Clarke tells her, leaning in to kiss the hinge of her jaw. “So fucking beautiful.”

“So are you.”

She’s suddenly hyperaware of Clarke’s hand that is ever so slowly inching its way past the inside of her knee. It’s enough to remind her of the almost unbearable throbbing between her own legs and she clenches her thighs together in a bid to relieve it. Her attention is resolutely diverted when Clarke sucks at her pulse point.

“What are you thinking?” Lexa asks, letting out an undignified squeak when  Clarke licks the shell of her ear.

“I’m thinking,” Clarke says, peppering kisses along the expanse of Lexa’s neck, “that I’m gonna really take my time with you,” she husks. “Find out how many different ways I can make you cum.”

Clarke cups her through her yoga pants and she nearly jolts off the couch and sends them both to the ground.

“Clarke,” Lexa hisses. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Relax,” Clarke chuckles against her skin, the vibrations of which do absolutely nothing to calm Lexa down. “God, I love the way you say my name. Its so fucking sexy.”

She can’t speak anymore. She’s not capable of words when Clarke’s hand presses into her like _that_. She thinks she'll never speak again when Clarke increases the pressure as she moves it up and down the clothed length of her slit teasingly.

“Do you want me to tell you what else I’m gonna do?”

Lexa can only nod.

“I'm gonna take you to bed. Touch you, taste you, make love to you until we’re too fucking exhausted to move. By the time we’re done you’re going to be-”

Clarke’s promises are cut short when Lexa decides enough is enough, scooping the blonde up in her arms. Clarke squeals with delight and her legs instinctively wrap around Lexa’s waist as she’s carried in the direction of the bedroom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clarke is true to her word.

Its dark by the time they’re lying flat on their backs in Lexa’s bed in a haze of post-orgasm bliss. They’re both completely spent, breathing laboured and limbs aching in the most delicious of ways as they come back down to earth.

She stares up at the ceiling, hands absentmindedly running through Clarke’s hair when the blonde nuzzles into her side. She’s going to have more than a few new bruises from where Clarke greedily claimed her body. The sweat hasn’t yet cooled on her skin and already the bruise currently developing on her left breast is an impressive shade of purple.

“Sorry about that,” Clarke murmurs against her shoulder, fingertips tracing the outline of her mouth’s handiwork. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

She wants to tell Clarke that she doesn’t mind in the slightest - that it’ll serve as a reminder of their frankly earth shattering sex marathon. But she can’t pass up the opportunity to get a sarcastic remark in, especially when sleepy, post-orgasm Clarke is such an easy target.

“Whatever you say, Edward Cullen.”

Clarke lifts her head to even her with a deadpan stare. “Twilight is lame, Lexa. Almost as lame as that burn you just attempted.”

Maybe not such an easy target after all.

“You covered me in hickeys like some horny teenage boy,” Lexa counters, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “The burn was accurate.”

“Okay one, Edward Cullen isn’t a teenage boy, he’s a hundred year old vampire,” Clarke says as Lexa rolls her eyes. “And two,” she pauses, pressing a kiss to Lexa’s collar bone, “you’re just so gorgeous I couldn’t control myself.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Clarke huffs. “You’ve only got yourself to blame. It’s your own fault for answering the door in a sports bra and yoga pants looking like you walked straight off the cover of Women’s Health.”

“I didn’t plan it!” Lexa protests. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Clarke grins. “You happen to be very good at knowing when I’m coming, “she drawls, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

She groans and covers her face with her hands, hoping it will be enough to hide the blush she feels burning her cheeks. Clarke’s laughter only makes her groan louder.

“That was awful,” Lexa mutters, throwing Clarke a sideways glance. “You’ve been spending too much time with Raven.”

Clarke hums. “True. I think maybe after all these years she’s starting to rub off on me.” A beat passes. “Though its nothing like when you rub o-”

She doesn’t let Clarke finish that terrible innuendo. Instead she pushes herself up and straddles Clarke’s hips in one fluid movement, pinning the blonde’s hands above her head. There’s a moment when they’re both completely still, Clarke looking up at her with wide eyes full of curiosity. Then slowly she lowers her free hand, fingertips running delicately over Clarke’s ribs before she grins mischievously and tickles the sensitive skin.

 Clarke squirms beneath her, laughter ringing out in staggered bursts as she tries her best to get away. But Lexa is merciless in her assault, seeking out the spots that have Clarke gasping.

“Are you going to stop with the terrible lines?”

“Ye-,” Clarke gasps, laughing around her words. “Yes! Whatever you want.”

“Say uncle,” Lexa sing-songs.

“Uncle!”

With a satisfied smirk she releases Clarke’s hands, chuckling when the blonde scowls at her.

“Don’t pout,” Lexa chides, dropping a kiss to Clarke’s forehead. “You put up a good fight...it just wasn’t good enough. But what else do you expect when you mess with the best?”

“You’re a bad winner,” Clarke says, fighting off a smile. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Yes, all the time.”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“I am.”

The warmth that blooms in her chest as she looks down at Clarke isn’t like anything she’s ever felt before. This, she realises, is what it feels like to be loved, to be cared about, to have someone completely accept you for who you are. For the first time in a long time she’s truly happy.

Clarke tilts her head up and Lexa smiles as she leans in to connect their lips. The slide of their mouths is languid, sensual but not too deep, just the perfect amount of push and pull. In the kiss she can still taste herself on Clarke’s lips, barely there but enough to send a tremor of arousal through her exhausted body.

When she pulls back its with tired reluctance, still straddling Clarke’s thighs. Clarke’s hand find her own on top of the sheets and she entwines their fingers with a comforting squeeze.

 “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

“Ha ha,” Clarke says dryly. “Be serious for a moment, would you. I’ve been psyching myself up for this and I’m gonna lose my nerve.”

Uh oh. Alarm bells are ringing.

“You can ask me anything,” Lexa tells her softly. “You know that.”

“Ok. It’s kind of a two-parter actually...my Mom is coming to town and last week Raven’s big mouth told her we were kind of dating.”

She says nothing, still waiting on baited breath for the question.

“So my Mom asked me to invite you to dinner next weekend so she could meet you,” Clarke says very quickly. “You don’t have to say yes, I can just tell her you-”

“Yes.”

Clarke blinks. “Really?”

Lexa nods. “Of course. I’d love to meet your Mom.”

The smile that spreads across Clarke’s face is worth it. Clarke doesn’t need to know that her stomach is churning wit nerves at the prospect of a ‘meet the parents’ scenario. She’s never had to introduce herself to anyone’s parents before (Costia’s for obvious reasons) so this will be a first.

“What was the second thing?”

Clarke’s smile drops a little. “Well the reason my Mom is coming to town is because she’s getting married in October. We’re going shopping for a dress for me. And well, uh...I was wondering if I...if you would um...”

She can’t help the slow smile that pulls at her lips. Seeing Clarke Griffin nervous and stumbling over words is like spotting a double rainbow; rare and beautiful.

“Clarke, are you asking me to be your plus one?”

“Um...yes?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Lexa chuckles. “Okay.”

She leans in and captures Clarke’s lips in a soft kiss before rolling onto her back once again. No sooner than her back touches the mattress, Clarke is nuzzling into her again, one leg thrown over Lexa’s own. Clarke yawns and shuffles closer still, laying her head on Lexa’s chest. She wonders if they will ever have a moment more perfect than this.

“Thank you,” Clarke whispers into the dark of the room.

“Don’t mention it,” is what she tries it say. It comes out as more of a murmur as her eyes slide closed and tiredness suddenly creeps up on her. The last thing she’s aware of before she drifts off to sleep is shape of Clarke’s smile pressed against her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading - I hope you like where the story is going.  
> I'll see you next time for more Octaven nonsense, cute clexa, grumpy Anya and the appearance of Abigail Griffin.  
> Feel free to find me on tumblr at toolateintheday


	23. Tentative Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back after a ridiculously long hiatus - sorry about that but life has been mega busy.  
> Not sure if people are even still reading this fic but for those that are, I should be back to updating once per month.  
> This is shorter than my usual chapters but it sets us up for the next one in a big way.  
> I hope you enjoy it :)

Clarke POV

 

It takes a degree of strength she didn’t know she possessed to crawl out of Lexa’s bed pre-8am on Sunday morning.

Actually, that’s a bit of a lie. Getting out of bed had been the easy part – the real difficulty had been removing herself from the comfort of Lexa’s embrace when it would have been so damn easy to stay wrapped up together all day.

Yes, gently untangling their limbs, sliding out of the California King Bed and gathering her clothes had been a true test of will. It had been made all the more difficult by Lexa’s soft mewls of protest, eyes still closed as her hands blindly searched the still warm mattress where Clarke lay just moments before.

It’s impossible not to smile at the sight. So she does; softly brushing Lexa’s unruly morning hair back from her face before dropping a kiss to her forehead.

“Stay,” Lexa murmurs into the pillow, her voice thick with sleep.

And Clarke wants to. God does she want to. But it’s not really an option and they both know it. She has brunch scheduled with Raven and Octavia. Not only to bring them up to speed with the Nia situation but to put in some much needed friendship hours. It seems like forever since they all hung out together – setting a trap for Roan at the bar the other week hardly counts as bonding time.

And Lexa...Lexa needs to get some rest. When she’d shown up at the apartment yesterday afternoon she’d noticed the dark circles under the brunette’s eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that Lexa had been up most of the night before (probably worrying about her) though she vehemently denied it when questioned. They’re both stubborn like that.

“I have to go,” Clarke whispers, fingertips barely ghosting Lexa’s jawline. “I’m meeting Raven and Octavia downtown later and I need to shower and change before then. I can promise you that no one at Carluccio’s is gonna be impressed if I show up for brunch with that ‘just fucked’ look.”

Lexa smirks and cracks an eye open. “I’d be impressed.”

“I’d dare say you would be with your own handiwork,” Clarke smirks back

It’s impossible not to return the lazy smile Lexa gives her. When all this is over they can have their time alone together. She longs for their future; for days spent in bed, wrapped up in each other without the weight of responsibility weighing down on them. She can hardly wait.

The groan Lexa lets out when she twists her body towards Clarke comes as no surprise. Last night had been nothing short of mind-blowing and she’s feeling pretty tender herself this morning. In the best possible way, of course.

She leans down to capture soft lips in a parting kiss. It’s chaste, completely innocent – but it still makes her heart beat that little bit faster as their kisses always seem to.

“Call me later?” Lexa murmurs against her lips.

“I will,” Clarke promises as she reluctantly pulls away. “Tonight. Try and get some sleep.”

“Are you trying to tell me I need some beauty sleep, Miss Griffin?” Lexa teases, unsuccessfully stifling a yawn as she sinks back onto the mattress once again.

“That would imply it was possible for you to become even more beautiful, Miss Woods” Clarke retorts smoothly, enjoying the pink blush that creeps across her girlfriend’s cheeks. “I’m saying you work very hard and everyone needs to rest sometimes, even genius business strategists.”

She catches a glimpse of Lexa’s rapidly reddening face before the covers are pulled over it, laughing when the brunette calls a muffled “say hi to Raven and Octavia for me,” from beneath the blanket.

She’s still chuckling as she exits the apartment a short while later, completely convinced that Lexa Woods is entirely too adorable.

 

 

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

Apparently it doesn’t matter how much rent you pay or how fancy your apartment is, because all parking garages are dingy as hell. The one beneath Lexa’s building has less of an “I might get murdered” vibe than most, but she still doesn’t feel like lingering as she walks towards her car at an increased pace.

She pushes the button on her keys, letting out a huff of frustration when nothing happens. It’s a mild inconvenience that the central locking tends to malfunction sporadically, but it annoys her all the same every time. She should really ask Raven to fix it one of these days. Its the kind of task that her best friend could complete in about a minute flat. Maybe if she buys Raven a mimosa or two at brunch then-

“Well well well, what do we have here?”

The gruff voice alone is enough to make her jump but it’s the unexpected hand on her shoulder that has her dropping the keys. She lets out an involuntary shriek of surprise and her heart hammers in her chest as she frantically roots around in her purse for something to defend herself with. Why oh why isn’t she carrying that can of pepper spray like Octavia is always telling her to?

Her fingers close around a travel-size canister of hairspray and she decides that will have to do. Only when she spins around intent on treating this creep to a face full of L’Oreal’s finest, the panicked look on etched across her features gives way to a scowl.

“Hello again, Clarke,” Roan smirks openly. “You’re awfully jumpy this morning.”

“That tends to happen when assholes creep up on me in poorly lit parking garages,” Clarke retorts without missing a beat.

Roan’s smirk deepens. “You sure it’s not just because I caught you doing the walk of shame?”

“Trust me when I say there’s really no shame involved,” Clarke deadpans. “I’m here keeping up my end of the deal.”

“I’ll bet.”

It’s when Roan has the audacity to wink that her patience wears thin.

“Not that I’m not enjoying this little chat but what the fuck do you want?”

 Roan’s chuckle surprises her. “Is that how you speak to your employer? I’d try being more respectful if I were you.”

But you’re not me, is the comment she bites back. All evidence up to this point suggests the Queens are not the kind of people you want to test. It might be best to keep a civil tongue.

“Sorry. What the fuck do you want, _please_?”

Ok, so she’s never been particularly good at recognising authority...or controlling her temper. The civil tongue is a work in progress.

“Oh it isn’t what I want from you,” Roan says. “This is about what you _need_ from me.”

Clarke blinks slowly. “Does your entire family talk in riddles?” she questions, exasperation evident. “Because it took your mother long enough to get to the point yesterday and I don’t have the time or patience to pretend I give a fu-”

“Allow me to cut to the chase,” Roan interrupts, holding a palm up to silence her. He meets her eyes and the grin disappears from his face. “I know you’re playing my mother.”

Fuck fuck fuck.

 Ok, don’t panic, she tells herself, silently willing her face not to betray her emotions. Panicking would be the worst thing to do in this situation.

“What are you talking about?” Clarke frowns, narrowing her eyes. “Your mother is aware I’m here. The question is, why are _you_?”

“Because I know you’re up to something,” Roans says.

“Yeah, it’s called damage control,” Clarke retorts. “You know, acting? After that huge argument I had to make Lexa think that-”

“Don’t,” Roan warns, taking a step closer. “Do not insult my intelligence. I’m not a moron and you’re not as subtle as you think you are,” he pauses, eyes scrutinising. “You’re completely in love with her. There’s no acting involved.”

Clarke laughs hollowly. “This is a joke right? You’re so far off the mark it’s embarrassing.”

“Am I?”                                                                                                                

She lifts her chin in defiance. He’s bluffing. He has to be. There isn’t a shred of evidence to suggest that-

“Do you know what this is?” Roan asks, raising his hand to face level.

And there, held between his index finger and thumb, sits a small plastic disk no larger than a nickel. It’s chillingly familiar. In fact it looks a lot like-

 “This is a recording device,” Roan says, smiling openly. “You ever seen one of these before? You can record up to eight hours of audio footage on this tiny little disk. Doesn’t that just blow your mind?”

She remains silent, lips pressed into a thin line as she stares him down

 “But that’s not the best thing about it,” he continues, adopting an unsettling grin. “The best thing about it is that the size makes it very discreet. It’s perfect for, oh I don’t know, let’s say...sliding under an apartment door.”

Her blood turns to ice in her veins. _Fuck._

“Fuck indeed,” Roan echoes, and Clarke is surprised to find she spoke out loud. “Don’t look so worried, Clarke, I’m not a pervert. I stopped recording around the time you jumped Lexa’s bones,” he sneers. “By then you’d already given me all the material I need to end your duplicitous little scheme.”

She clenches her jaw so hard it aches.

“I think my mother would be _very_ interested to learn you’re double crossing her, don’t you?”

 “You son of a bitch!” Clarke growls as she lunges forward, making a grab for the disk. “You sneaky fuc-”

“Ah ah ah,” Roan smirks, taking a step backwards. “I don’t think so. That’s not how this is gonna go down. We’re playing by my rules now, Clarke”

There’s nothing she can do. For a second she contemplates blindly charging into him and wrestling the device from his hand. But whilst the momentary shock of such a ridiculous move might work, she knows she doesn’t really stand a chance. Roan’s reflexes are sharp. Not to mention he’s got a good 60 pounds on her – the guy is built like a tank.

“You know, you might not be the most subtle person in the world, but you’re a great little actress, I’ll give you that,” Roan drawls, twirling the disk between his fingers in a way she knows is done to taunt her. “You and your friends knew exactly who I was that night at Crown but you still put on a believable performance even when I tried to get a rise out of you. Bravo.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Look, this situation screwed up enough. Can you maybe not make it worse by mocking me? Just call your mother and put me out of my misery.”

Roan shakes his head. “I’m not mocking you, Clarke. Nor do I have an intention of relaying this conversation to my mother.”

Clarke scoffs. “Really?”

“Really,” Roan says evenly. “I’ve been watching from the sidelines for a while. I knew you were a step ahead of my mother before she made that ridiculous offer yesterday. But I wondered if you’d truly be ballsy enough to go through with your plan to double-cross one of the most powerful women in LA.” A beat passes as they stare each other down. “Turns out you were.”

Roan opens his fist to reveal the device and then lets it clatter to the ground. In a move that has her jaw hitting the floor, Roan covers the disk with his boot and presses down with a satisfying crunch, his heel grinding the shattered remains into the tarmac.

She tries to vocalise her shock but only manages a series of slow blinks because honestly... _what the fuck_?

Roan meets her eyes. “You’re not the only one who wants her gone.”

She wills herself to recover quickly, resuming her previous position of crossed arms and an openly disdainful scowl.

 “Well as theatrical as that was, I think you’d better elaborate” Clarke drawls. “Or am I expected to blindly believe that despite being the VP at Azgeda, you’re willing to turn your back on the family company?”

“I’m the VP in name only,” Roan says. “I have nothing to do with the running of the company. The stakeholders are keen to maintain the family image it projects and my mother,” he pauses, running a hand through his hair. “She likes to remind me of my place. Which happens to be directly under her thumb. She controls everything.”

 “So you want to take over, is that it? You’re planning a coup?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Then what do you want?”

Roan holds her gaze for long moments, brow furrowed as though contemplating his response. She doesn’t falter for even a second, staring back with steely determination.  

“Well?” Clarke arches an eyebrow.

Roan sighs. “Its the diner...the one where you met my mother and Ontari yesterday.”

“What about it?”

“It belongs to me.”

 “You’re telling me _you_ own Annie’s?” Clarke presses, not sure she’s heard correctly.

Roan nods.

 “Wait, wait, wait.... _you_ , an infamous playboy and VP of Azgeda run that charming little diner?” Clarke challenges, letting out a bark of laughter. “I mean no offence and all but you don’t exactly fit the homely stereotype.”

 “None taken,” Roan shrugs. “And I told you, I’m the VP in name only. I brought the diner years ago with a loan from my mother. $500k all in to buy the property and renovate it completely.”

Clarke lets out a low whistle. “Let me guess,” she intones, connecting the dots. “That’s something she won’t let you forget.”

“Exactly.  Tried to pay her back a couple of years ago but she refused the money. She’d rather have that leverage over me than let me be independent,” Roan growls. “She interferes in my life at every turn, whether it’s taking a slice of my profits or using the diner to meet with her shady contacts.”

She fixes him with a sceptical gaze. Call her suspicious but this seems like too much of a convenience to be true.

Roan sighs. “Look all I want is to have something of my own, y’know? Build a business I can be proud of and live my life without her breathing down my neck.”

“So what’s the solution?” Clarke presses. “What’s your master plan? You’re gonna turn your back on your family and help Lexa?”

“Yes.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not buying it,” Clarke shoots back, narrowing her eyes. “What’s your motivation? And don’t give me anymore bullshit about wanting to be independent. You’ve been living comfortably on Mommy’s handouts for years, why change now?”

“I _do_ want to be independent!” Roan snaps. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for myself and for-” he cuts himself off abruptly, looking away.

She lets the silence hang between them for long seconds. Roan’s definitely not being entirely truthful but she’s not sure how much of this she can believe anyway. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the Queen’s had spun a pack of lies for their own benefit.

 “You and Lexa may think you have me figured out but I’m not completely selfish,” Roan says, his voice softer than before. “I know my mother is reprehensible. I know what she’s capable of. I’ve seen her ruin countless lives and businesses without batting an eye. She has absolutely no remorse for her actions and its time she was _stopped_ once and for all _.”_

 “You don’t...you don’t mean...” Clarke frowns, making a gun gesture with her fingers.

“What?! No!” Roan blurts before letting out a low chuckle. “Jesus you’re dark, Griffin. I meant put her behind bars, not bump her off. There’s a ton of shit she’s guilty of. Blackmail, embezzlement , fraud,  bribery, the list goes on.”

It sounds almost plausible. Maybe stranger things have happened and Roan _is_ the only member of the Queen family with a conscience. But there’s still the matter of this suspicious timing-

“Look I’ve been trying to make my move for years but you and Lexa came up with a better plan than I ever could,” Roan says, seemingly reading her mind. “Let me help you. I mean think about it, it’s mutually beneficial.”

She opens her mouth to question just how he’s going to _help_ when he cuts her off yet again.

“My mother is a suspicious woman,” Roan says. “Even now she’s doesn’t trust that you’re on her side which is why she sent me here. I can report back that you’re honouring her deal. We can corroborate - I’ll give you a heads up on anything else she’s planning. I might also be able to get you some evidence of her more illicit dealings.”

“Right. Okay,” Clarke says, carefully choosing her next words. “Let’s say we do have the same goal and this isn’t all some elaborate trap...how do we know we can trust you?”

Roan blinks slowly. “You mean besides the fact I just destroyed the evidence that could have ended you?” he asks, gesturing at the remains of the recording device. “What else do you need?”

“I need you to convince me.”

She remains stoic, staring at him expectantly. At this point they need Roan more than he needs them; one word to Nia and this plan falls on its ass. But like hell is she gonna admit that.

“Alright fine,” Roan huffs as he pulls out his phone and begins scrolling. “Recognise this guy?” he asks, holding it up to eye level.

She leans in a little, eyes narrowing as she takes in the photo on the screen. She sure as fuck recognises him.

“Carl Emerson,” Roan says. “Though you probably know him as Jon-”

“Jon Gregory, the guy who framed me for the security breach and almost got me fired,” Clarke snaps irritably. “This isn’t exactly new information.”

“No, but if you’ll let me finish,” Roan snaps. Clarke just glares. “I’m trying to tell you that my mother was only half bluffing about having people on the inside. You need to be careful. There’s still one person at Trikru who works for her.”

“You know that the truly helping would be to tell me who it is, right?” Clarke drawls.

 “I can’t do that. She’s being blackmailed and forced into this against her will. Exposing her isn’t an option, not when I-” Roan cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Just trust me when I tell you it’s dangerous, ok? And way too fucking complicated,” he tacks on bitterly.

She fixes him with a curious look, tilting her head to the side when he remains unaffected. There’s no point in pushing this no matter how much her brain reels with the possibilities of just who it could be. She’s gets the distinct feeling that no matter how hard she persists, Roan’s not going to break his wall of silence on the mole’s identity.

 But still, now she knows Nia’s infiltrator is a woman so that’s something to go on at least. It should narrow down the list of suspects Anya’s been compiling significantly.

“Show me something in life that isn’t,” Clarke says.

“You got me there,” Roan shrugs. “So do we have an agreement? I’ll keep my mother in the dark so you and Lexa can do your thing. I’ll set her up, you knock her down.”

“Well we already set her up without your help so you can’t take the credit for that,” Clarke points out, a smirk paying at her lips. “And I suspect it won’t be all that easy. But I suppose you telling Nia the lies she wants to hear is a good start. We have an agreement.”

 “You don’t need to consult Lexa first?” Roan presses.

Clarke’s expression darkens. “I don’t need her permission if that’s what you mean,” she says tightly. “We trust each other.”

“Whoa, I was just kidding” Roan chuckles, holding his hands up in defence. “The two of you are well suited y’know? You both have that same fearless streak. You’ll need it if we’re going to pull this off.”

“Thanks,” Clarke says dryly. “I’ll bare that in mind.”

Roan chuckles again before straightening up and composing himself. “Well, Clarke, it’s been a pleasure but I really must be going. You’ll hear from me again soon.”

She’s somewhat surprised at the vague end to their conversation as he turns and walks away. But then that’s Roan all over; vague and aloof. He probably thinks it makes him seems mysterious and charming. It’s doesn’t. It’s mildly irritating at best.

It’s not until he’s halfway across the parking garage that she feels the urge to ask a completely innocuous question that for some reason has been lingering in the back of her mind.

“Hey Roan!”

He turns, frown evident even at this distance. “Yeah?”

“About the diner...who’s it named after? Who is Annie?”

He visibly stiffens and then turns again, striding purposely towards the exit. She watches after him until he disappears out of view. Oh. That’ll be one question she won’t be getting the answer to then.

She stands there for a long seconds, still reeling as her brain tries to process the absurdity of the last fifteen minutes or so. When she comes to her senses, she turns on her heel and heads back in the direction of Lexa’s apartment.

Raven and Octavia are going to have to take a rain check on that brunch date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please let me know if you liked the chapter!  
> Next time: Gang hi-jinks, the usual hilarity & Lexa meets Abby!


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